


Without Music

by lynna21



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, M/M, Young Daryl Dixon, piano-player Daryl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-17 04:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynna21/pseuds/lynna21
Summary: As soon as his fingers touched the keys, Daryl knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life.  Unfortunately for him, he's a Dixon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I've been working on this for a while now, and couldn't wait any longer to post it. While this is Rick/Daryl, and we'll eventually run into the show timeline, it's going to take some time to get there. I hope you all enjoy the ride!
> 
> Huge thanks to Skarlatha for letting me angst at her, and her super awesome beta skills!

 

**_Without music, life would be a mistake. - Friedrich Nietzsche_ **

 

“Momma! It's Thursday, Momma!”

Ruby Dixon turned her faded blue eyes toward her youngest son, and smiled. “It sure is, baby. You ready to go?”

Daryl was bouncing in place excitedly. Thursday was his favorite of all the days ever. Thursday meant that Daddy was gonna be gone for three whole days, and his momma was gonna take him down to the shops in town to see the piano man.

The piano man was so cool. He always wore a long black coat, and his fingers were fast like the red guy Daryl had seen in another boy's comic once. He was always nice, too, after he finished playing. He let Daryl sit on the bench, and run his fingers along the cool, smooth surface of the keys. He'd even tried to give Daryl a hug once, but Daryl had started, and flinched away. The only people he let touch him were his momma, and his big brother, Merle. He didn't really have a choice when it came to his Daddy.

His momma said that Merle had been a bad boy a couple of months ago, so that's why he wasn't around right now, and he may be gone for as long as a whole year! Daryl wasn't sure what could be bad enough to have to go away for a year, but he thought if he knew he might have tried to be bad, too. Maybe. If his momma got to come with him to wherever the bad people went.

“Come on, monkey, let's get going,” Ruby said, as she knelt to help Daryl put on his jacket, laughing quietly at the small noises coming out of his mouth.

“Oooo, eeeeee!” Daryl grinned, reaching his hands up to tickle under his arms, and bouncing up and down.

Cupping a hand under Daryl's chin, Ruby ran a finger over the small cut on his lip, and her smile faded. Shaking her head, she forced the smile back onto her face. “I don't know if monkeys are allowed down at the store, do you think I could have my little boy back now?”

Already extremely perceptive at four years old - almost, but not quite five - Daryl could feel the sadness underneath his mother's smile. Hiding, like a monster in the darkness. Ready to leap out and eat up whoever dared to come close.

Daryl smiled, his bouncing stopped, and said, “Yes, momma.” He reached his little arms up and wrapped them around his mother's neck, inhaling deeply the smell of roses and sunlit meadows and freshly baked bread. “I love you, momma.”

His momma smiled, “Oh, baby.” She pressed kisses into the crown of her son's silky hair and hugged him fiercely. “I love you more.”

 

~

 

There wasn't much to the small chain of stores that sat on the outskirts of King County, Georgia. Just a handful of no name stores with some sad looking racks out front, on which sat some sad looking clothes. The last store in the row, though, that store was special.

After walking for about 15 minutes, and turning one last corner, Daryl could finally see the stores sprawled out in front of them. Detaching his hand from his momma's, Daryl was fairly vibrating with excitement. “Momma, can I go see him? Please?”

His momma smiled, and nodded, landing a small pat on his rear as he turned and ran towards the music store. “Out front at all times, Daryl Dixon! You stay where I can see you, now!”

Throwing a yes'm, over his shoulder, Daryl charged down the sidewalk, his eyes fixed on the old upright piano sitting outside on the sidewalk, and the older man that was getting ready to sit down in front of it.

“Mr. Carmichael, Mr. Carmichael!”

Turning a lined and weathered face towards the small whirlwind of a boy heading towards him, the older man smiled widely, “Well, hello there, wee Mr. Dixon! And how are you on this beautiful day?”

Brushing a tendril of his flyaway blond hair out of his face, Daryl scrunched up his face and scowled. “M'not wee!”

Laughing heartily, Mr. Carmichael nodded his head. “As you say, Master Dixon. Why, you must be going on 20 years old now, am I right? And didn't I tell you to call me Lewis, hmm?”

Daryl grinned, and stuck out his hand, four fingers held up proudly. “I'm four, Mr. Carmichael. Almost five!” Scuffing his foot on the ground, and looking away bashfully, he amended, “I mean, Lewis. Sir.”

“Well now, you're sure growing up fast aren't you?”

Daryl nodded, his thumb edging toward the corner of his mouth.

“Are you ready for the music, m'boy?”

Nodding eagerly, Daryl took up his customary spot, just behind the right side of the piano bench. “What're you gonna play this week?”

“Let's see here.” Lewis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is nearing the season, eh?”

“The season?” Daryl tilted his head, puzzled.

“Christmas, young Dixon, Christmas! How about we play some carols for the lovely people here?”

Looking down the walkway at the sound of his name being called, Daryl turned and saw his mother coming towards them. “You're not giving Mr. Carmichael any trouble are you, Daryl?”

“No, momma! We're gonna play some carols!”

His momma gave his back a quick rub, and said, “Alright. You stay right here now. I'm going to go talk to Mr. Edwards down at the market.” Ruby looked up at Lewis. “You send him right over to me if he's any trouble.”

“Of course, Ruby.” He glanced down at the market, a few stores down, and back up to Ruby, concern on his face. Ruby was looking thinner than usual if his eyes weren't deceiving him. “Everything alright?”

Putting on her brightest smile, Ruby said, “Everything is fine. Just a small misunderstanding with our account.” Ruby nodded her head decisively, and spoke to Daryl once more before she walked away. “You behave now. Hear?”

Daryl nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”

For the next hour Daryl was in heaven. Lewis played several Christmas carols.  His strong tenor voice, sometimes joined by a smaller, higher one, carried out across the walkway and into all the stores. After the carols he asked if Daryl had ever heard marching music.  When Daryl shook his head no, Lewis launched into a rousing, if slightly unskilled, rendition of The Stars and Stripes Forever that had Daryl marching up and down the sidewalk, his arms pumping up and down in perfect rhythm with the music.

“Wonderful!” Lewis crowed, when he finished, smiling broadly at the small boy who was grinning happily behind the thumb he was chewing on. “How about this now?” he said, beginning to play again.

Daryl stood stock still, his bright blue eyes wide, enraptured by the notes the old man was coaxing out of the piano.

When the song was finished, Daryl asked softly, “What was that?”

“That, m'boy was a song called Elite Syncopations. I learned it from my father, who in turn learned it from, in my opinion, one of the greatest composers there ever was.” Lewis' eyes turned misty. “My father had occasion to live in St. Louis at one point in his life.” At Daryl's questioning look, Lewis said, “Missouri. It's, oh, about 500 miles or so away from where we are.”

Daryl nodded, unaware that the singular focus he turned onto the older man was one of the reasons Lewis liked him. The boy was, at the same time, exactly and nothing like other boys he'd met throughout his long life. At times, the youngest Dixon boy was bright eyed, and happy.  He bounced around with all the exuberance you would expect of a child his age.  Other times though, Lewis saw a darkness in his blue eyes.  Eyes that sometimes looked far too old to be housed in such a young face.

“Well, my father just so happened to be walking down the street, and heard music coming from a house, so he knocked on the door, and shortly struck up a friendship with the man who lived there. His name was Scott Joplin, and boy howdy,” the old man said, wistfully, “I wish I'd have gotten to meet him. He went into the ground just a few years after I was born.”

Daryl nodded solemnly. He knew what that meant. It meant dead 'n gone, rotting in the ground, according to Merle, who'd explained it to him the day of their Paw's funeral when Daryl had asked why his momma was crying so much. “He's dead 'n gone, Daryl. Rottin' in the ground. Never gonna see him, again, ya hear?” Merle said, before cuffing him gently 'round the back of his head when Daryl started to cry. “Now c'mon. None a'that. Dixon men don't cry.” Daryl missed his Paw something fierce.

Lewis looked at his watch, and got up off the piano bench. “It's about time I head home to the missus, young Dixon. Next week?”

Smiling, Daryl said, “Yes, sir.”

After he watched Lewis walk away, Daryl took a seat on the piano bench, and ran his fingers lightly over the keys. It always amazed him the sounds that could be coaxed out of the instrument.

Quickly looking left and right, to see if anyone was watching, he softly pressed down on the keys. He'd been wanting to do this for weeks, but it took him time to build up the courage to actually try. Tilting his head to the side, and listening intently, he tried a few keys to see if he could make the wonderful song that Lewis had played come out of the piano.

He searched around the keyboard, and went through the memories of the older man's hands moving over the keys that seemed to be stuck on a loop inside his head,  After a moment, Daryl thought he had it. Well, most of it anyway. His hands were a bit too small to reach all the keys he wanted to reach, but he gave it a good try. He was so focused on the instrument in front of him, he didn't notice that the old woman who owned the music store had come out and stood in the doorway to watch him.

“How long have you been taking lessons?” she asked.

Daryl started, and jerked away from the piano like it had been lit on fire. “M'sorry,” he mumbled around his thumb as he backed away. “I wasn't hurtin' it, swear.”

Tucking tail, and running down to the market where his momma was, Daryl glanced behind him, and saw the old lady still looking at him, a small smile on her face.

He headed to where his momma was sitting, her business at the market done, on an old stone bench under a peach tree. Her head was turned into the wind, and her eyes were closed. Daryl climbed up next to her, and rested his head on her shoulder.

“Did you have fun with Mr. Carmichael?”

“He played me some new songs today, momma. And after he left I tried to play one, and it sounded almost like when he played it!”

Ruby shook her head, and laughed, wrapping her arms around her baby boy, “I'm sure it did, monkey, I'm sure it did.”

“Actually,” Ruby and Daryl both looked up, surprised, as the tiny old lady who ran the music store walked up to them, and said, “It did sound remarkably good for a child so young. How long has he been taking lessons?”

“Excuse me?” Ruby asked.

“Lessons, dear. How long has your boy been taking piano lessons. And from who, I'd like to know.” She laughed, “I thought I was the only one in town who gave them.”

“Daryl hasn't ever had a piano lesson,” Ruby said, her arms tightening on her son, protectively. Lewis was one of the only people in town who had ever treated her family with any respect, and she was sure any moment this woman was going to start screaming about how a Dixon had touched her things and tainted them.

“He should have them. From what I saw of him at my old piano, he's got a natural gift. It should be cultivated, or it'll go to seed. Every Thursday, and Saturday, Two dollars a lesson.” The woman nodded then, like everything was settled.

Ruby's mouth turned down into a frown. “I- I- No. His daddy won't like it.”

The woman came closer, and sat down on the bench, turning to face Daryl and Ruby. She reached out a hand and patted Ruby's knee, noting, as she did, that Daryl shrunk into his mother's side, trying to make himself invisible. “That's why I suggested Thursdays and Saturdays, dear. Isn't that when your Will is off...” She paused, thinking, before turning shrewd, intelligent eyes back to Ruby. “Working?”

Ruby flushed, knowing that all the people in town probably knew that every Thursday Will Dixon took off to God knows where. Probably to get drunk and screw anything with legs. He would return on Sunday afternoon, still stinking drunk, and more times than not, look for someone to pick a fight with. Up until a couple of months ago, Ruby had managed to shield her youngest boy from any of Will's “lessons”, but lately, it seemed that Will had deemed Daryl old enough to be taught right along with her and Merle. With her older boy in the juvenile detention center a couple of towns over for the next year due to being caught with some stolen property, Will had turned the attention that usually fell to Merle squarely onto Daryl.

Clutching her son even tighter, Ruby said, “No.” She flushed again, “Don't have the money, anyway.”

“I think we can work something out,” the woman said, flashing them a smile full of pearly white teeth, as she drew her shawl closer around her thin shoulders. She turned her eyes toward Daryl, and held out a hand. “My name is Dorothea Passmore. You can call me Mama Dot. Everyone 'round these parts does.”

Daryl looked warily between the old woman's eyes and her hand, until with a small nudge, and a loosened grip from his mother, he slowly put out his hand, and mumbled, “Daryl.”

“Firm up that handshake, Daryl.” Mama Dot said, grasping his hand tightly. “A firm handshake is important. As for the money... Daryl, are you a big, strong boy? Can you weed a garden?”

Daryl nodded, after looking up at his momma. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Well then, that's settled. Thursdays and Saturdays, here at my store, then on Sunday, you come on down to my house out off Merritt Avenue, you know where that is?”

Ruby and Daryl both nodded.

“How about we have your first lesson now, Daryl? Would you like that?”

He looked at Mama Dot from under his bangs, after a quick glance at his momma who was smiling and nodding. A timid smile crept up on Daryl's lips, behind the ever present thumb. “Yes, ma'am,” he said quietly.

 

~

 

A couple of hours later, an extremely energetic Daryl, and a supremely proud Ruby walked down the street toward home.

“Did ya see all the books she gave me, momma! I'm gonna be a p'nist when I grow up!” Daryl beamed, holding up a stack of five books that, before the lesson Ruby would have said were far beyond Daryl's skill level of, well, no skill at all. After the lesson was another story. She had watched her baby boy learn to read sheet music like he'd been born to do it. He'd grasped concepts in seconds that were difficult for even older students to learn, according to Mrs. Passmore. Before the lesson was over her boy had been playing Beethoven. Beethoven!

Ruby smiled. Thinking that of all the things she'd maybe passed on to her boy, this was one her own father would have been thrilled about. James Howell, her father, had been a jovial man, always happy to sit at his piano and soak up the attention of anyone who would give it. He'd have been overjoyed that his grandson inherited his talent.

Rounding the last corner before they came to their house, Ruby stopped a wildly dancing Daryl, and knelt down to speak to him. “Daryl. I know you're excited about your piano lessons, but calm down a minute, please.”

Recognizing the serious look on his momma's face, Daryl stilled, and focused his attention on her, clutching his books to his thin chest. “Yes, Momma.”

Sighing sadly, Ruby said, “I need you to listen carefully to me, monkey, okay?” When Daryl nodded, she continued, “You know your Daddy won't like these lessons, so we need to be very careful whenever he's around to not say anything about them. Not anything at all, understand? And we'll keep those books locked away somewhere he'll never find them. Alright?”

Daryl opened his mouth to speak, than stopped, his little face scrunched up in thought. “B'cause Daddy don't like pansy stuff, right? Dixon's ain't pansies.”

Both happy and sad that Daryl had understood this so quickly, Ruby nodded. “That's right, baby. And you know how Daddy gets when he's mad, right?”

Daryl reached up and softly touched a mark on his momma's throat, right near her ear, that she'd forgotten to cover with makeup then ran his tongue over the cut on his lower lip. “I understand, Momma.”

“Good boy,” Ruby said, pulling Daryl into her chest, wrapping her arms around him, and squeezing him tightly for a moment before pulling back. She rested her hands on his small shoulders, and looked into eyes the exact shade of hers. “I'm so proud of you, baby. No matter what happens, you always remember that. Okay?”

Daryl nodded, set his books down carefully onto the sidewalk, and launched himself into his momma's arms, hugging her as tightly as he could. “I love you, Momma,” he whispered.

Clutching onto Daryl right back, Ruby spoke softly, “I love you more.”

 

~

 

Several weeks later, on a Sunday morning, Daryl and his momma were on their way over to Mama Dot's house when a loud voice bellowed at them from several yards away.

Picking Daryl up and holding him tight to her chest, Ruby flinched at the noxious breath that was now wafting over her face. “Will. I wasn't expecting you to be over on this side of town.”

Cruel gray eyes latched onto Daryl's trembling form before flicking over to Ruby. “What'n the hell are _you_ doin' over here, woman. Dontcha got stuff to do back at the house?” Will scoffed, smacking a large hand on Daryl's back, and laughing at the flinch Daryl couldn't hide. “Lazy bitch,” he slurred.

“We're just going for a walk, Will. We were feeling cooped up in the house, is all.” Ruby said.

“Yeah, right. My friend over there,” Will's arm gestured vaguely in the direction of the porch of a large house, where a scantily clad woman hung over the porch rail. “She says she's seen you two ever' Sunday fer weeks now. Goin' inta the Passmore house over yonder.” Ripping Daryl out of Ruby's arms and tossing him onto the sidewalk like a piece of litter, Will grabbed Ruby around her upper arms and squeezed, hard, before roughly jerking her closer. “Ya bes' not be lyin' ta me, girl,” He said, rancid, alcohol-tinged breath washing over Ruby's face. “Ya won't like what happens.”

Stammering and flinching at the pain in her upper arms, Ruby tried again, only sparing the smallest glance at Daryl, not wanting to call Will's attention to him in any way. “W-we met Mrs. Passmore down at the market. We're going to w-weed her g-garden.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “She payin' ya?”

Ruby shook her head.

Shaking Ruby hard once more, Will spit, “I think you're lyin' ta me, you fuckin' bitch!”

A small cry slipped past Ruby's lips at the sharp pain in her arms, and she started crying.

“The hell's the matter, Ruby, huh?” Will grinned, squeezing even harder. “Take that little shit home. I'll be there shortly. Just gotta get m'self a piece first.” He laughed, and released Ruby, one of his hands going to his groin and squeezing while his hips gyrated wildly.

Will sauntered back up to the woman on the porch, but not before stopping in front of a cowering Daryl. He drew his foot back, kicked the boy harshly in the stomach, and grinned nastily at the small moan of pain that came reluctantly to Daryl's lips.

“Get the hell outta here,” Will threw over his shoulder as he put an arm around the woman on the porch, licking at her neck lewdly.

“C'mon, monkey,” Ruby whispered, crouching to pick up her baby boy.

Daryl whimpered as he slung his arms around his momma's neck, clinging to her desperately.

They set off for home at a brisk pace, Ruby's arms never once letting up the tight grip she had on Daryl, despite the pain in her arms, and the bruises that had already started to bloom, thick and black.

Once they made it home, Ruby sat Daryl onto kitchen counter and checked him over. She tenderly cleaned the scrapes he'd gotten from being tossed onto the sidewalk. “You okay, monkey?”

Daryl sniffed, holding back tears. “My tummy hurts, Momma,” he said, his arms crossing over his stomach. When Ruby lifted his shirt she saw that a bruise to match her own was slowly forming.

Ruby wiped away the single tear that trickled out of Daryl's eye, and said, “I know, baby. Let's go lay you down, huh? I'll read to you from one of your piano books.”

Brightening up a bit at that, Daryl sniffed once again, and roughly ran the back of his arm under his nose. “The one about Mo'zart?”

“Whatever one you want.”

The corner of Daryl's mouth turned up a bit at that. “Okay, Momma.”

Daryl jumped down from the counter and started toward his bedroom, but didn't get any further than a few feet before a booming voice echoed around the house, and froze him in his tracks.

“Daddy's home!” Will yelled.

Ruby froze as well, her eyes scanning the room, and zeroing in on the stack of sheet music sitting in plain view on the kitchen table. “Daryl!” Ruby whispered frantically, “Get your books, and put them in our hiding place, quickly!”

Dashing over to the table, and grabbing the music, Daryl winced when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Whatcha got there, boy, huh? You hidin' somethin' from yer old man?”

Clutching the music to his chest, Daryl whimpered, “Nothin', Daddy. Just some m-music.”

Letting go of his son's shoulder, Will spun Daryl around and grabbed onto the front of his shirt. Pulling him in close, he sneered. “You turnin' into a queer, you little shit?”

Not quite sure what a queer was, but knowing enough that his daddy thought they were bad, Daryl shook his head. “No, Daddy. It's just some piano music, I-”

Daryl's words were cut off by a meaty fist plowing into his ribs.

His Daddy let go of his shirt, and Daryl dropped to the ground, wheezing, and trying futilely to suck in a breath, sheet music fluttering into the air all around him.

Will rounded on Ruby. “What the fuck ya think yer doin', huh?” He growled, backing Ruby into a corner. His eyes were filled with hatred as he drew back his fists, and let fly.

Somehow, between hits, Ruby yelled out to her baby boy that she loved him, and he needed to run away.

Will ignored Daryl's distraught cries, and Ruby's increasingly pained moans, and rained down blow after blow until his momma lay in a puddle of her own blood on the floor.

As his daddy stood over his momma, his back heaving, and sweat pouring down his body, Daryl knew if he didn't make himself scarce, he'd be next. He didn't wanna run. He wanted to stay and protect his momma. But, he remembered her telling him once that if his daddy caught him Daryl wouldn't have much of a chance to fight him off. He was only little after all. Taking one last look at his momma he ran out of the back door, and went straight into the woods behind the house.

He ran and ran and ran, his ribs aching like fire, but he didn't stop until he got to the abandoned shack Merle had shown him one day.

“You listen here, baby brother. You know what Daddy's like.” At Daryl's nod, Merle continued, his face as serious as Daryl had ever seen it. “Y'ever get scared, y'ever need to avoid his drunken ass, you come and set here, 'til I come getcha. Daddy's lazy ass don't never come this far inta the woods, so you'll be safe. Ya hear me?”

Daryl nodded. Looking down at the ground, he mumbled, “Why's Daddy so mean to us, Merle? Why don't he like us?”

Merle shook his head. “He's jus' an old mean drunk, Daryl. He don't matter none. One'a these days, me'n you are gonna light outta here like our asses is on fire, how 'bout that?” Merle grinned at him, slung one arm around his shoulders, and ran tickling fingers over Daryl's ribs with the other.

Daryl pushed Merle's hand away, giggling, and looked up at his big brother. “What about Momma?”

Merle grimaced. “Just you 'n me, baby brother, s'all we need in this world.”

Well, that was good enough for Daryl.

As Daryl lay on the floor of the abandoned cabin, his legs curled into his chest, he was unaware of the words he was whispering to himself, over and over.

“I love you more.”

 

~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a link to one of the songs Daryl will be playing, if you'd like to hear it. [Polonaise in A-flat major, Op. 53, "Heroic"](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v%3DAc1qWwc0pG0&sa=D&ust=1498330773045000&usg=AFQjCNHSP-b5N4ESJFRiU-3tGVt6jzI2KQ)
> 
> Huge thanks to Skarlatha for listening to me babble about this fic, and answering all my little questions so patiently.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Squinting up into the bright sunlight that was filtering through the trees, Daryl guessed it was about three o'clock in the afternoon. He jumped down from his perch in an old tree, shouldered the string of rabbits he'd caught in a few snares, and made his way to the edge of the forest.

Breaking through the cover of the trees, his eyes narrowed with distaste as he looked at the rundown shithole they were living in. Calling the moldy, rust filled dump a home was giving the damn place delusions of grandeur. There hadn't been any kind of a home for Daryl since that day three years ago when he was nine.

He remembers running as hard as he could to catch up to the other boys, despite knowing there was no way he'd be able to, them being on bikes and all. He remembers standing there, frozen, staring at the burnt out shell of his house, his nose prickling with the smell of burnt wood, and the pungent aroma of a shattered life. He remembers his momma being carted out of the house on a gurney, nothing but a burnt out shell, just like the house.

It all went downhill after his momma died. Hell, it had all started to go downhill the day his daddy had found out about his piano lessons. Daddy had beat the holy hell outta momma that day. She never really recovered. After Daryl had lain on the floor of that abandoned shack for hours, he'd remembered that Merle wasn't around to come get him, so he had carefully pulled himself to his feet, one arm plastered around his midsection. He knows the feeling well now, and he's had much worse since, but he hadn't known he'd had a couple of cracked ribs that day. Nothing too awful, but they sure were painful.

When he got back to the house, he'd crept in as silently as he could, trying to practice what Merle had been beginning to teach him about being quiet in the woods. His momma was still on the floor of the kitchen, but she'd pulled herself up a bit, and was propped against the wall in a corner.

“Momma!” he'd cried, wincing at the loudness of his voice.

Ruby opened her eyes, and Daryl nearly gasped in horror. The bright blue eyes that he loved to stare into, seemed to Daryl, to be solid red, with just a small splotch of blue in the middle, like a mound of blue earth in the middle of a red sea.

His momma winced, and made a shushing noise. Then, licking her bruised and split lips, she whispered, “You go on to bed, monkey. I'll be fine in the morning,” and closed her eyes again.

Daryl may have only been four, almost five, but he knew there was no way his momma was gonna be okay in the morning.

He'd tried to help her, but she'd just winced, and pushed him away. He'd tried over and over, tears dripping out of his eyes in a steady stream that he was unable to stop, whispering, “Momma, please,” over and over.

Shaking off the horrible memories, and shoving them down in his mind as far as they would go, Daryl pushed open the door to the small trailer. He knew daddy weren't home, 'cause the truck was gone from the tiny dirt patch right in front. “Merle!” he hollered out, “Getcher ass out here!”

“What the hell you want, Darylina?” Merle grumbled from his position on the threadbare monstrosity they called a couch. Daryl thought it might have been light blue at some point, but now it was stained a dirty brown color, with yellowing patches here and there across the whole damn thing.

Daryl threw the rabbits at his brother, smirking, “You said if I caught dinner, you'd clean it. Get to work.”

Merle erupted from the couch and grabbed Daryl by the base of his neck. Squeezing just hard enough to sting a bit, he growled, and waved his finger in Daryl's face. “Listen here you little shit. How fuckin' old are you?”

“Jesus, Merle, ya know how old I am.” Daryl scowled and knocked Merle's hand away to go lean up against the arm of the ratty couch.

“Need ta treat yer elders with just a bit more respect there, 'lil brother. Or ya might not live ta see thirteen.”

Waving a hand, dismissing his brother's words completely, Daryl asked, “You gonna cover for me when I go over ta Mama Dot's?”

“Dunno why the fuck you wanna go over ta that old bitches house, but yeah. I'll tell the old man ya went to a movie or somethin'. If he shows up, anyway.”

Daryl laughed, “You don't like Mama Dot 'cause she calls you on all the stupid shit you do. Remember when she chased you around the yard with a switch? That time right after you got outta jail for stealing _her_ car, and had the nerve to show up at _her_ house? I thought I was gonna piss myself.” Daryl bent over, clutching at his stomach laughing while Merle glared at him.

“Whatever, _Depussy_ , go do your wussy little music bullshit somewhere else.” With that said, Merle kicked the rabbits off into the corner, and settled back down on the couch. He cracked one eye open and fixed it onto Daryl. “I'll clean 'em later. You cook 'em up when you get home.”

“Thanks, Merle.”

“Fuck off,” Merle replied, halfheartedly, and closed his eyes again.

 

~

 

He arrived at Mama Dot's house only a few minutes later, having run almost flat out the entire way. Daryl made sure to bypass the main road, and come up through the woods into the back yard so no one would see him. Walking up to the house he knocked on the back door. “Mama Dot, I'm here!”

Shuffling feet sounded from inside. “I'm coming, Daryl, give my old bones a minute to cooperate.”

Daryl smiled. He didn't love anyone anymore, 'cept maybe Merle, but if he was gonna, he'd love Mama Dot. He hadn't gone back to lessons with the old woman 'til he was nine. Eventually though, the draw he felt to the piano couldn't be ignored anymore. He'd showed up at her house one day, and she didn't blink an eye. Just invited him in, and had him plant himself in front of her Steinway baby grand. These past three years since momma died she'd, in turns, taught him and nursed him and fed him and clothed him and did her very best to try and keep him from turning into Merle.

He waited impatiently, his foot tapping out the rhythm of the song he'd begun learning that week. It was a piece by Chopin, and one of the hardest he'd ever tried to learn. If his fingers were just a _bit_ longer, he'd have it down.

Finally making it to the door, Mama Dot opened it, and ushered Daryl inside, clucking all the way about how dirty and disheveled he looked, and didn't his bastard of a father put _any_ food on the table at all?

Daryl grinned and soaked it all in. He felt more at home here than he did at that shitty old trailer.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Daryl waited for what he desperately hoped was coming, based solely on the smell that was permeating the room.

“You made it?”

Sending a mock glare Daryl's way, Mama Dot breezed into the kitchen, her ever present shawl trailing out behind her like a cape.

She stopped behind Daryl's chair, and laid a barely there kiss on the top of his head. “Of course I did, sweet boy. I said I would, didn't I?

Daryl bowed his head, his cheeks flushing. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Now, let's see if it's done,” Mama Dot teased, her lips struggling to contain the smile that wanted to spread across her face.

Daryl groaned, “C'mon! I'm a growing boy, I need food!”

Pulling the chicken pot pie out of the cooled oven and setting it on the counter with a flourish, the older woman mentally patted herself on the back. It had been her grandmother's recipe, and it was perfect. Golden brown, flaky, and packed with a luscious filling.

“It's been done for a bit now, but I left it in the oven to cool. I thought you'd appreciate being able to eat it right away.”

“Hell yes.”

“Daryl Dixon!” Mama Dot exclaimed, flapping her hands gently in front of her face, deliberately deepening her already strong southern drawl. “Your language shall cause me to faint dead away!”

Daryl let loose a small laugh, “Yeah right. I heard what you said when you was chasing Merle around your yard.” Grinning at the old woman, Daryl continued, “Learned a few new words and everythin' that day.”

Mama Dot shook her head as her cheeks colored slightly. “Pish.”

Bringing her young student a heaping plateful, along with a glass of sweet tea, as Mama Dot was nothing if not a proper southern lady and hostess, she watched as Daryl fell onto the pie with gusto.

“Did you go to school today?”

Daryl shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of pie. “I had shi- stuff ta do.”

“I swear Daryl Dixon! I'll make a proper young man out of you if it kills me!”

“Nah,” Daryl smirked. “You like me jus' the way I am.”

“Have you thought any more about what I asked you last week?”

Daryl tensed. “Ya know I can't. Daddy'd find out. I already missed out on enough lessons 'cause 'a him and momma. Don't wanna miss more.”

“Daryl, I've been talking you up to all my friends in Atlanta for three years now! I promised them you'd play!”

Eyeing Mama Dot's disappointed face, Daryl sighed. Putting his fork down, he reached out and patted the back of the old woman's hand. “Alright, Mama Dot, alright. I'll do it.”

Her face instantly exploded into a smile. “I knew you would!” She clapped her hands happily. “What do you want to play? You'll only be on stage for about a half an hour, so we need to choose carefully.”

“What d'they wanna hear?”

“Well,” Mama Dot said. “It's a gardening society, so nothing too wild. Though I'd love nothing more than to give some of those stuffy old biddies a good shock.”

“So no ragtime?” Daryl laughed.

Mama Dot laughed, “I think a little ragtime would be wonderful. You play it so well.”

Daryl shrugged. “S'easy. Fun.”

“What about the polonaise? Do you think another week of practice will be enough?”

“Yeah,” Daryl nodded, after putting his fork down for the final time. He was comfortably full for the first time in a week. “Wanna get a couple hours in today at least,” he said, chewing and swallowing his final bite. “I almost got it, I think.”

“Well then,” Mama Dot beamed, as she picked up Daryl's empty plate. “Get to work."

 

~

 

“This was a horrible idea,” Daryl groaned, looking out at the packed room. His fingers picked convulsively at the new slacks and the white collared polo shirt Mama Dot had given him before they left her house back in King County.

“Pish, Daryl. There's only about 30 people, you'll be fine.”

He looked at the crowd with apprehension filled blue eyes, and groaned again. All the faces blurred into an unrecognizable smear in his mind, and for just a second he thought he might pass out. “Never shoulda agreed to this,” Daryl said, clenching and unclenching his hands repeatedly.

“Daryl, look at me.”

He did, reluctantly, and Mama Dot slowly raised her hands to cup Daryl's jawline. “You, Daryl Dixon, are the most talented student I've ever had.”

Daryl blushed, and dropped his gaze. “Naw,” he scoffed.

“None of that,” Mama Dot scolded. “Eyes front.”

When Daryl was looking at her again, she continued. “I am so proud of you Daryl. You're a wonderful boy, and I think you'll make an even more wonderful man one day.” Mama Dot patted the middle of Daryl's chest with one hand, her skin papery thin and almost translucent in the soft glow of the spotlights that leaked into the backstage area. “This heart in here, is as pure as any I've ever seen. You just follow it, Daryl. It'll never steer you wrong.” Mama Dot tugged gently on his earlobe. “You just have to listen.”

With that said, Mama Dot pulled Daryl in closer for a rare hug.

Daryl's breath stuttered. He felt tears gathering in his eyes, and that was not gonna happen here. Quickly, he gathered his emotions, wrapped his arms around the old lady, squeezed her gently, then stepped back. He raised steel blue eyes to hers, and hoped everything he wanted to say and couldn't bring himself to was there for her to see. “Thank you, Mama Dot.”

She patted his cheek softly, her eyes soft. “You're welcome, Daryl. Now. It's time.”

Taking a deep breath, Daryl watched Mama Dot go out onto the small stage, and even though he could hear the words coming out of her mouth, his brain just couldn't make sense of them. He was too focused on the people that were going be staring at him in a few short seconds.

“...Daryl Dixon!”

Gathering every last bit of calm and courage he could manage, Daryl walked out onto the stage, and clasped the hand Mama Dot held out to him. Kissing it quickly, he walked over to the grand piano that had been set out in the center.

As he settled down in front of the gleaming piano, Daryl's mind quickly calmed, the people staring at him slowly faded from his view, and everything that wasn't music washed away. He ran his fingers over the keys once, took a deep breath and then he started to play.

Watching proudly from her front row seat, Mama Dot had to remind herself repeatedly that the talented hands that were bringing to life her favorite of Chopin's polonaises belonged to a boy who was only twelve years old. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that Daryl Dixon was destined for something great in life. She felt a motherly sort of pride unfold itself in her chest. She'd done her best to encourage Daryl. God knows his own father wouldn't. Mama Dot thought back to the first time she'd cleaned the wounds on Daryl's back. He'd been as skittish as a colt, shying away from her hands with harsh motions, and even harsher words.

She'd answered her door that day with expectations of a normal lesson, but that is definitely not how the day turned out. Daryl had said he wasn't feeling well, and could they have the lesson another day? Mama Dot reached out and put a hand on Daryl's shoulder, softly patting. She had intended to tell him to go home and rest, but when she'd pulled back her hand it was coated in blood. “Daryl!” she'd exclaimed. “What in heaven's name?”

“Mind your goddamned business, old woman!” Daryl had said, bristling. “Take your questions and shove 'em up your ass!”

Her eyes had widened for just a moment before she grabbed hold of Daryl's earlobe and dragged him inside the house. She sat him down on her bed, paying no mind to the hundred some-odd year old quilt that lay across it, and cleaned up the wounds on his upper back. She muttered phrases like _bless your heart_ , and, _never seen anything like this in my life_ , and, _give him a piece of my mind, by God_ , under her breath during the whole process. Daryl didn't say a word the entire time, just brought a thumb up to his mouth and chewed on the skin he found there until it, too, was bloody.

Her face turned hard for a moment as she imagined Daryl's father getting what was coming to him. The police did nothing, despite all the calls she'd made to them, and that brother of his was up to no good most of the time. She thought Merle loved Daryl in his own way, but he'd gotten just as much of the hatred from their father as Daryl had, and it had turned him mean and spiteful. Merle was like a junkyard dog that'd been beaten until it would snap on anything that came near it. Not like Daryl. There was such a strong, pure heart beating in that thin chest. Mama Dot imagined she could feel the goodness pouring out of Daryl like heat radiating off a campfire.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she turned her full attention back to the stage, and grinned proudly. “I won't let you ruin this one, Will Dixon. You just wait and see,” she whispered, as she watched Daryl's hands fly up and down the keys.

A few minutes later, just as the final chords rang out, Mama Dot drew in a pained breath and clasped her hands to her chest. Ignoring the pain, she raised herself to her feet, and clapped as hard as she could for her favorite student.

Daryl stood onstage alongside the piano. His face was bright red, and he was doing his best to hide behind his bangs, but there was a small smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. He took a little bow, like Mama Dot had shown him, and started to walk off the stage.

Shouts of alarm made Daryl turn his head back toward the audience, and to his horror, he saw Mama Dot lying limply on the floor.

“Mama Dot!” he cried and leapt down off the stage, elbowing people out of his his way get to her side.

He knelt down on the floor next to her, and took her hand in his. “Mama Dot. What's wrong?”

She looked up at him, her eyes misty and unfocused. Looking like it took all her strength to do it, she lifted up a hand, and tapped it gently on Daryl's chest, directly over his heart. She smiled softly at him, then her hand slipped back to the ground, her eyes closed, and, after one last shallow breath, she went still.

“Mama Dot!” Daryl yelled, squeezing desperately at the hand he still held. Daryl just sat there, knelt on the floor, her hand clasped in his own, pressed against his chest. He heard murmurs, and some soft crying coming from the people gathered around them, but he didn't bother to pay any attention to them.

He only let go of her hand when the paramedics that had been called physically removed it.

 

~

 

Hours later, Daryl looked up from where he'd been sitting at the Atlanta police station. Mama Dot was dead. He was in Atlanta all alone. They called his daddy. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Mama Dot is dead. It's like his momma dying all over again, and Daryl isn't sure he knows what to do next. He thought about what Mama Dot said back at the theater. About his heart being pure. Daryl didn't know what that meant, really, and he didn't know if it was true either. If his heart was so pure, and he was such a good person, why did the whole _damn_ town cross to the other side of the _damn_ street when they saw him comin'? Why did his teachers not give a shit about anything he said to them? Why did everyone treat him so badly if he was such a good person?

Why did everyone he ever let himself love go away?

Just then, Daryl saw the answer walk into the room, and he got angry. Angrier than he'd been in his whole life. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together, hard. His daddy had just better not say a damn word about anything. To hell with being smaller, Daryl would do everything in his power to kill that sonovabitch.

Daddy put on a good front when he wanted to. There he was, all, _thank you officer_ , and, _I'd really hate it if something would'a happened to my boy_ , _officer_.

Daryl scowled. Why everyone fell for his daddy's bullshit, he didn't know.

“C'mon, Daryl,” Will said, as he walked over towards the bench his son sat on and wrapped a large hand around the nape of Daryl's neck. His lips and jaw were tight, and the hand on Daryl's neck was anything but gentle. “Le's get you home.”

Daryl let Will lead him out of the police station, across the busy street, and into a large parking garage. The hand on his neck tightened with every single step.

When they finally got to the truck, Will lost his shit.

He slammed Daryl against the door, and growled in his face. “You little shit! You been goin' to those lessons all this time? That old woman teachin' you ta be a fucking pussy, boy? Huh?” Will punctuated his words with hard smacks against the side of Daryl's head.

“You keep your hands offa me, ya prick!” Daryl yelled, his nostrils flared and chin jutting out. His hands pushed on his daddy's larger ones, trying to escape his bruising grip.

“What the fuck you jus' say ta me, _boy_?” Will whispered. The vein in his forehead began to pulse, and his face started to redden.

“Ya heard me,” Daryl glared. “Didn't stutter.”

Shock was visible in Will's widened gray eyes, but it was quickly replaced with anger. “You faggoty little runt, I'll teach you fuckin' good and proper this time!”

Will grabbed Daryl by the shoulders and flung him to the hard cement of the parking garage floor. When Will opened the door of the pickup truck and reached inside, Daryl's eyes widened at what his Daddy held in his hand.

The tire iron.

Fear like he'd never felt before spread through Daryl in a rush, and left his limbs feeling icy cold. He scrambled backwards on his already scraped elbows, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

“No!” Daryl screamed, and he hoped like hell that there was someone around to hear, otherwise, he thought his daddy just might kill him this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter, but I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Thank you to Skarlatha for fixing all my mistakes! You're awesome!

Daryl woke up confused. He couldn't move at all, and it felt like his body was weighted down with lead. When he tried to open his eyes, all he managed was a weak fluttering of his lids. They must have weighed a thousand pounds. He moved his head a bit, trying to shake off some of the leaden feeling, but stopped short when his efforts only caused sharp pain to radiate out from a spot near his neck.

“Daryl? Y'awake?”

Recognizing Merle's voice through the cotton that seemed to be stuffed inside his ears, Daryl licked his dry, cracked lips, and opened his mouth to speak. “M-Merle?” he rasped, his voice rough, and grating on his ears. “Wha' happened?”

“Jesus. Ya don' remember?”

Finally managing to open his eyes, Daryl took in his surroundings. Sterile white walls, complete with a generic painting of a sunset. Hospital. He looked down at himself, wincing at the pain in his neck, and saw tubes and long swaths of bandages, along with a cast covering his entire right leg and arm. “Shit,” he whispered, a chill running down his spine. “I remember.”

Mama Dot was dead, and daddy had found out about his lessons.

“Everythin'?

Daryl swung his eyes over to Merle, trying to avoid moving his neck the best he could. Merle looked like he'd been sat in the chair he occupied for quite a while. Stubble was thick on his big brother's jaw, and Merle's eyes had dark bruised looking circles underneath them. “What?”

Merle cleared his throat. “You remember everythin'?”

Flashes of memory started to hit Daryl hard. The tire iron coming down over and over. Throwing up his arms to stop it from getting him in the head. The sickening feeling of his bones snapping. The pain as various bits of exposed skin were stripped off when he was dragged over the cement floor of the parking garage toward the five story drop. The hatred that burned like molten steel in his father's eyes, and poured out of his mouth in a profanity laced stream. The police officer that had miraculously appeared, only seconds before his father would have succeeded in throwing him over the ledge and into the busy street below. Daryl blinked rapidly, his eyes filling up with tears.

The sound of the gunfire.

“He dead?” Daryl whispered, closing his eyes.

Merle reached out a hand and awkwardly lay it over top of Daryl's uncasted one. “Yeah, 'lil brother. He's dead.”

The tears spilled over, and Daryl turned anguished eyes onto his brother. “What're we gonna do, Merle?”

Merle stood up, and leaned over Daryl. He pressed his forehead against his brother's, and slid a hand up to cup the back of Daryl's head, his thumb tracing over the curve of his cheek, wiping away some of the tears that Daryl couldn't control. “We're gonna be jus' fine, Daryl,” he rasped. “Remember what I tol' ya? All them years ago?”

Daryl lifted his uninjured hand, moved it to Merle's shoulder and held on for dear life. His breath hitched. “Y-you and m-m-me,” Daryl stuttered, his eyes squeezed shut. Tears were leaking steadily out of the corners. “You 'n me s'all we need in this w-world.”

“Yer goddamned right.”

 

~

 

“Fuckin', no, Daryl! Jesus Christ!”

Daryl scowled, folding his arms across his chest the best he could with the bulky cast in the way. “S'not right if I don't go Merle,” he said, glaring at his brother, who was pacing restlessly around the hospital room.

Sighing loudly, Merle raked a hand through his short, spiky hair. “Daryl,” he sighed, trying his best to sound reasonable, which was completely out of character for him. “They're not gonna let ya outta the hospital just so ya can go to that old bat's funeral.”

“I don't need to be in here anymore. I'm better,” Daryl said stubbornly.

Merle laughed ruefully, the list of his brother’s injuries floating through his mind. Multiple abrasions, some worse than others, across nearly the entirety of his body. Concussion. Thankfully not from the crowbar. Broken collarbone. Right arm broken in three places. Compound fracture in his right leg complete with new pins and rods that had been put in place to hold the bone together. Pins and rods that Daryl would have for the rest of his life. He looked at his baby brother, sitting up in the bed with his best scowl plastered across his face, still looking so goddamn pale and hurt and scared and so goddamned _young_ and Merle wanted to bring his father back to life just to have the pleasure of beating him to death personally. Preferably with the tire iron he'd used on Daryl.

“Look, baby brother,” Merle said, placing one hand on his hip, and pointing a finger at Daryl with the other. “It ain't gonna happen. We'll send some flowers or some sappy shit like that, okay? And then, when you get outta here, we'll go get some more sappy shit, and I'll personally escort you down ta the fuckin' cemetery to do whatever you gotta do.”

Daryl stared down at his casted arm. When he looked back up at Merle, there were tears running down his face. “S-s-s-she was my f-f-friend, Merle,” Daryl sobbed, balling his left hand into a fist, and rubbing it hard across his eyes.

Merle quickly crossed the room, and situated himself next to Daryl in the narrow hospital bed. “I know baby brother, I know,” he said, reaching out and pulling Daryl close.

Several minutes later, when Daryl was finally calmed down, Merle reached out and, very lightly, rubbed his knuckles across the top of his brothers head. “Ya gotta stop this pussy cryin' once we get back home, ya know. Can't have everybody in town thinkin' my little brother ain't tough, now can we? Got a rep to protect an' all.”

Daryl laughed wetly, bringing a hand up to scrub at his face. “Yeah, right, Merle. Everybody in town hates us, 'cept for your asshole friends.”

“Well now,” Merle grinned, his smile almost feral, “S'cause everyone in that town _but_ my asshole friends are too stupid to appreciate us Dixon's and our passionate nature.”

Daryl scoffed, lay his head down on Merle's chest, and listened to the steady thumping of his brother's heartbeat. The rhythmic sound soon lulled him into his first peaceful sleep in ages.

 

~

 

A couple of months later, and after multiple visits from a social worker to their new apartment, Merle had finally been given guardianship over Daryl.

“New town, new life, baby brother,” Merle had said, slinging an arm around Daryl's shoulders, and watching the woman from the county head out the door.

Daryl just shrugged. He was out of his wheelchair now that his collar bone had healed, and the cast was off his arm. The leg was another story. According to the doctors, Daryl had at least two more months of walking around on crutches, and the possibility of another surgery to fix whatever the hell they thought needed fixing.

Maneuvering carefully over to the couch, Daryl slumped down across the end, and threw a hand over his eyes. He still hadn't really processed all the things that had happened in the last few months. Not that he would tell Merle that. Daryl looked over at his brother, and snickered quietly under his breath. Merle was making them dinner in their tiny kitchen. So far, he'd set off the fire alarm twice, burned water, and ruined three pans.

He was trying. Daryl appreciated that. Though he was getting tired of bologna sandwiches and chips.

Sometime later, when he was sitting on the couch pretending to watch television, Merle's elbow bumped gently into Daryl's side. “It's been two weeks since you got that cast off, and ya still ain't touched that keyboard I gotcha.”

Daryl scowled. “I ain't doin' that no more, Merle. Done told ya.” When they'd eventually let Daryl out of the hospital, the keyboard had been sitting on his new bed, complete with a shiny red bow. It was brand new, and state of the art.  When he'd asked Merle how he'd gotten the money for it, his brother just smiled, winked and told him not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Daryl had snorted. Stolen then.

“I thought you liked all that pussy shit, Darylina? Playing pussy music written by pussy men back in pussy times.” Merle threw back his head and laughed, pleased with his description of all the music Daryl played.

“Didn't hear you calling me a pussy when I did Bohemian Rhapsody for ya.”

“Well, ya get a pass on that one. That Freddy Mercury is a real man. Tough, even though he sings like a chick sometimes.”

Daryl's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He had his own thoughts about what kind of a man Freddie Mercury was, mostly due to that song he'd played for Merle. Thoughts that were strikingly similar to ones he had about himself, actually. Daryl shook those thoughts off, and just nodded his head, agreeing with his brother. “Whatever you say, Merle.”

“Now,” Merle said, pinning Daryl with a hard stare, “When are you gonna get back at it?”

Daryl turned his gaze to his fingers, flexing them slightly on his lap. “M'not,” he said softly. “S'what started all this. I'm what started all this. Ain't doin' it no more.”

Merle sighed, and tried to reach out and put a hand on Daryl's shoulder.  His brother just shook Merle’s hand away, got up off the couch, and slowly crutched himself back into the room they both shared.

Leaning back on the couch, Merle let loose a long breath. “Well,” he said, scratching absently at his chest, “Ain't that some bullshit.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Skarlatha for looking everything over!
> 
> Some of the songs Daryl plays this chapter... [Liebestraum No. 3 - Liszt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IKfe1TtBd6w%20), [Maple Leaf Rag - Scott Joplin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fagH03fxY7c%20), [Free Bird - Lynyrd Skynyrd](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pclSoQFVUo4%20), [Flight of the Bumblebee - Rimsky-Korsakov](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9jqYpHmh-0), [Gymnopedie No. 1 - Erik Satie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-Xm7s9eGxU), [La Campanella - Liszt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FbQZCsYXVg)
> 
> On with the show. Hope you enjoy!

“Merle!” Daryl hollered into the apartment they still shared. He got nothing back but silence. “Asshole's off on a goddamned bender again. Shit.”

Following Mama Dot and his father's deaths, Merle lived a life 'bout as straight as an arrow. For approximately a year. Then he was back up to his old tricks. Slinging whatever drug was big at the moment, stealing anything he could get his hands on, and snorting the profits right up his nose.

Daryl shook his head. If it wasn't for the small amount of money Mama Dot left Daryl in her will, both brothers would have been homeless. Somehow he'd managed to keep Merle from spending every cent of it, but between using it for rent more often than not, and groceries when Daryl got so hungry he thought he'd eat the north end of a southbound mule, that money was pretty much gone. Maybe enough left to buy himself a burger or something. Either Merle or Daryl was gonna have to go find another job, and Daryl was pretty sure he knew which of them it was gonna be.

Standing in the middle of the living room, looking around at the barren walls, ratty secondhand furniture, and the TV that was propped up on a milk crate, Daryl suddenly felt very tired. He was always exhausted in the physical sense, to say nothing of the mental one. He'd been working on one of the farms in the area after school since he was fourteen. Four years now. It was backbreaking work, but Daryl didn't care. It beat being stuck in the brick school building for eight hours, and he liked the animals better'n people anyway. He didn't have much time for hunting anymore- not that that stopped him. But, now...

Daryl sighed. He'd made a promise to Mama Dot years ago, that he would finish school, and maybe even go on to college, but it wasn't gonna happen. He was eighteen now. Wasn't anything anyone could do about him dropping out. Not that anyone cared. Nothin' that wasn't expected from one'a the Dixon boys.

Kicking what he thought was an empty beer can, Daryl spluttered when the warm beer foamed up and sprayed out all over the living room, and him. “Motherfucker,” Daryl said softly, wiping the skunky beer away with a grimace.

Heading into his room, he stripped out of his damp clothes, dropping them directly onto the floor, and walked over to the closet. Taking out the only clean shirt there was, he decided not to bother with pants. His boxers would just have to be good enough.

As he was turning to go plant himself on the bed and think about how much his life sucked, Daryl's eyes caught on the shiny black casing of the keyboard Merle had gotten him six years ago.

He'd never played it. Not even once. It went from sitting on Daryl's bed to taking up too much space in their already small closet.

Daryl stood there, staring at it. He could still feel that pull, even after so much time not playing. He doubted it would ever go away.

Slowly, like the keyboard was a venomous snake, and was going to bite him if he wasn't careful, Daryl grabbed the instrument. He brushed off the dust that had accumulated, and took it back to the bed, sitting down with it resting on his lap. He flipped the switch to turn it on, but nothing happened. Daryl smacked himself mentally. Of course the batteries would be dead, it hadn't been used in six years.

Looking back over at the closet, Daryl set the keyboard aside. Guess he needed those pants after all.

 

~

 

Once Daryl got home with the batteries and put them into the keyboard, he once again settled himself on his bed.  The lack of any sheet music didn’t bother him at all.  Daryl had always been extremely good at playing by ear.  Flexing his fingers, he ran his hands up and down the slick keys. The plastic felt a bit different than what he'd been used to, but he supposed there was something to be said for easy portability.

After running through several sets of scales to warm up, Daryl was grinning wider than he had since the night of the concert in Atlanta.  It wasn’t quite the same as a regular piano, but the basic feel was there.  The past few years he'd rarely let himself think about playing, and now that he'd decided to begin again, he could feel the missing piece of himself slotting back into place. Like it had never been gone.  Flashes of all the songs he'd learned and then packed up and put into a box in his mind suddenly burst out, and splayed themselves out in the forefront of his mind like a centerfold.  Newer songs, one’s he’d heard and didn’t even know he wanted to play were crowding in right alongside.  His mind was absolutely overflowing with music.  Cracking his knuckles, his grin wild, Daryl began to play. He'd missed this.

Several hours later, Daryl's hands were cramping something fierce, but he couldn't bring himself to put the keyboard down.  At this rate, he'd need to go out and pick up several more sets of batteries.

“Well, well, well. Never thought I'd see the day,” Merle said as he walked into the room and threw himself onto the other bed with a loud belch. Laying on his stomach and burrowing his hands underneath the pillow, Merle closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He cracked one eye open and looked over at Daryl, who still hadn't stopped grinning. “'Bout time baby brother. Now why don't you play me a little lullaby, huh? Man's gotta get his beauty sleep, ya know.”

Daryl shook his hands out, and placed them on the keys once again. Satie was perfect for this.  Daryl let his fingers press softly against the keys, coaxing out a haunting, deceptively simple melody. Anyone with just a bit of practice playing the piano could probably learn Gymnopedie No. 1 and play it with some proficiency, but it was putting the emotion into the song that was the difficult part. Daryl was a firm believer that you didn't just need skill to be a good pianist. You needed to back up that skill with heart.

Before Daryl was even done with the song, Merle was snoring loudly, his mouth open and drooling all over his pillow. Laughing quietly to himself, Daryl finished the song and placed the keyboard gently on the floor before sliding it underneath the bed so it wouldn't get stepped on.

He got up to switch off the light, and lay down. His head resting in the cradle of his arms, Daryl's last thoughts before he drifted off to sleep were centered on what songs was he going to play tomorrow.

 

~

 

“We gotta make some goddamn money, Merle!” Daryl shouted. His words were muffled behind the thumb he was furiously chewing on.

“What happened to all that cash the ol’ bat left ya?” Merle drawled from where he was sprawled out on the couch, looking like he didn't have a care in the world.

Daryl stomped over and slapped his brother's legs off the arm of the couch, and leaned into Merle's face. “Ya call her that one more time, we're gonna have a problem,” he whispered, his eyes hard.

Merle pushed Daryl away. “Oh, calm your tits, Darylina,” he said, “We'll figure something out, and if we don't it ain't like we never slept under the stars before.”

“Maybe I can sell my crossbow. Or the keyboard.” Daryl was back to pacing restlessly around the room.

“Oh god,” Merle scowled. “You an’ I both know if you sell either of them you're just gonna get all fuckin' moody, and piss and moan all around the place 'till ya get ‘em back. I ain't dealing with that shit, little brother. No, sir.”

Daryl glared at Merle. “So what do you suggest, Merle? Pack everythin' up now and live outta the truck?”

Merle shook his head. “I got somethin' goin' tonight. Business. Should set us up for a while.”

“What?”

“Nothin' you need to worry yer pretty head about, baby brother.” Merle grinned at Daryl, and got up from the couch to sling a heavy arm around Daryl's neck. “I got it covered.”

Daryl scoffed. “Whatever you say, Merle.”

 

~

 

Daryl couldn't bring himself to sell his crossbow, or his keyboard. Without his bow, Daryl felt like he was missing a limb, and now that he'd started playing again, the piano was the same way. Which is why he was sitting here. In the middle of the woods, next to a cheerfully blazing fire.

He shook his head, glancing around to where he'd set up his tent a few feet away, and thought about saying to hell with the rest of the day and just going to bed. He'd visited Merle already, whose “business” turned out to be robbing a liquor store. Too bad for him that the owner of that store had a prickly disposition, and the pump action shotgun to back it up. For the foreseeable future, Merle was in jail, and Daryl was on his own.

He liked it that way most of the time anyway. He wasn't any good with people anymore. No one in town would talk to 'Those _Dixon_ Brothers' anyway. Only people that ever gave a crap about Daryl were in the ground, or in jail.

‘Screw ‘em all,’ he thought to himself as he got comfortable by the fire. ‘Who needs 'em.’

 

~

 

Daryl spent the next few months by himself for the most part. Some days he wouldn't say a single word. If he felt the need to talk to someone, he'd just bring out his keyboard, and play it by the light of the fire. He'd always been better at speaking through music anyway. And so it went. Day by day and month by month, what little tolerance he had for people whittled away until it was almost nothing.

He went into town periodically. Tried to get whatever kind of work he could.  Manual labor, mostly.  One of Merle’s sobered up buddies that’d managed to open up a garage would let him make a few bucks fixin’ cars, or bikes every now and again.  Sometimes he'd stop and stare wistfully at the old upright piano that still sat outside what had been Mama Dot's store. Her great grand something or other ran it now, and from what little Daryl had heard, the man was a good sort. Never charged too much for lessons, or even at all for some of the poorer families in town. Now that he thought about it, Mama Dot was like that, too.  He can't recall his mother ever giving her any money, and Daryl had only weeded her garden a handful of times over the months and years she'd been his teacher.

A lump gathered in Daryl's throat as he stood on the sidewalk in front of the shop. Memories bubbling up inside him like a fountain.

A throat clearing off to the side startled him. Looking over, he saw an older man, maybe thirty to Daryl's nineteen.  He had thick black hair, and warm toffee colored eyes. He was smiling broadly, and holding out a hand for Daryl to shake.

“I'm Beau,” he said. “Passmore. Mama Dot's great grandson.”

Daryl looked at his hand with narrowed eyes, and the beginnings of a scowl on his face.

Beau's smile faltered a bit, and his hand slowly returned to his side when it became obvious that Daryl wasn't going to take it. He soldiered on, despite the darkening scowl creeping across Daryl's face. “Mama Dot told me about you, I think. You're Daryl, right?”

Eyes widening momentarily before he could get a handle on his surprise, Daryl grunted in answer.

“She had a picture of the two of you on her bedside table. You were obviously a bit younger, but I can see the resemblance. She was so proud of you,” Beau said.

Grudgingly, Daryl opened his mouth to speak, his voice a bit gravelly and harsh due to lack of use. “She was a good person.” Looking at Beau from under his bangs, Daryl added hesitantly, “Miss 'er.”

Beau smiled sadly. “Yeah,” he said. “We all do. She was one of a kind, that's for sure.” Beau paused, like he wasn't sure if he'd get a fist in the stomach for saying what he was about to say. “Lot of people in the family were pretty upset about that money she left you.”

Daryl felt his fists clench involuntarily at his sides.  He glared at Beau with challenge in his eyes, but said nothing.

The other man held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, I said a lot of them, not all of them. I wasn't. Always thought money was a nuisance, myself.”

“S'cause you _had_ some,” Daryl bit out, and turned to walk away.

“Hey! Wait a minute!”

Daryl tensed when a hand landed on his shoulder, and he flinched hard. Before he knew what was happening, he'd balled up his fist, and slammed it into the other man's nose.

“Shit!”

“What ya get, asshole! Keep yer fuckin' hands offa me!” Daryl growled, ready to throw another punch if Beau so much as took a step towards him.

“Look,” Beau said, a hand held up to his nose where blood was dripping in a steady stream, “I didn't mean to freak you out or anything.” He shook his head. “Did you really have to _hit_ me? Shit. You've got a mean left hook.”

Daryl wasn't expecting the other man to react so well to being punched. He'd expected a retaliation swing at least. Not being hit back kind of shook his world view a bit. In his experience, you got hit, and if you hit back, you got hit again. Harder.

“Sorry,” Daryl said, grudgingly.

Beau just sighed. “No big deal. I don't think it's broken or anything.” He looked back up at Daryl, a hand still pinching his nose shut, making his voice sound nasally and high. “I stopped you for a reason. Mama Dot left some stuff for you at the shop. Just little things. Some books, and some sheet music that she wrote your name on. Guess she wanted you to have them.”

Daryl nodded, surprised the other man had held onto them all this time.  When Beau headed towards the store, Daryl followed.  Once they were inside, Beau excused himself for a moment, gesturing to the blood staining his face and the front of his shirt.  Daryl just walked around the store.  He breathed deeply, taking in the fondly remembered smells of wood polish, rosin, and songbooks.  He caught a small, likely phantom, wisp of jasmine for just a moment, and Daryl had to stop himself from turning and looking for Mama Dot.  His heart clenched tight in his chest.  For just a moment, the pain was as sharp and fresh as it had been the day she died.

When the other man returned his face was blood free.  In his hands he held three books, and a small stack of sheet music.

“The books are about Liszt, Chopin, and Scott Joplin,” he said, as he sat them down on the counter.  “The sheet music is a mix of all three, with others thrown in.  Some of the pieces in there are probably ones she meant to teach you down the road.”  
  
Daryl shot him a questioning glance, blue eyes just visible behind overlong bangs.  “Some of them are really difficult to play.”  Beau shrugged.  “I don’t know how advanced you were.  I’ve been playing for years though, and I can’t play some of these.”

Daryl looked through the stack of music, lips quirking slightly at the post-it note that had been affixed to the top.  Written in Mama Dot’s spidery handwriting was, “For Daryl.  Liszt in particular!”

Shuffling through until he came to a piece called La Campanella, by Liszt, and set the others down next to the books..  Scanning quickly through it, Daryl grunted.  “Don’t look too hard.”

Beau chuckled.  In his experience, no one had _ever_ said that about La Campanella.  “Listen, if you ever want a place to practice, you’re welcome here any time.”

Daryl fixed his eyes on the other man, and gave him a considering look.  “Got some time now.”

Beau pointed toward one of the two small practice rooms.  “Go for it.”

Heading toward the back with the Liszt sheet music clutched tightly in his fist, Daryl glanced once more at Beau.  If the small curl of heat in his stomach that came when he looked at the man was anything to go by, Daryl’s suspicions about himself had been proven true.

Saving that revelation for another day, Daryl headed to the practice room.  To a real piano.  A full blown grin stretched across his face as soon as he was out of sight.

 

~

 

Several weeks later, Beau stood just outside the practice room, and watched Daryl’s hands absolutely _fly_ across the keys.  He was good.  Based on what he’d seen the past few weeks, he was better than anyone Beau had ever had the opportunity to see play in person.  He was also extremely attractive, though not in the conventional sense, and extremely difficult to get to know.  To get close to.  Beau, however, was determined that he was going to break down the wall Daryl put up in between himself and the outside world.  It took at least three weeks of patient waiting before the younger man would speak to Beau in more than one word sentences or grunts.  

Once Daryl finished the song he was playing, and began to get up from the piano, Beau knocked softly on the door.

Daryl spun around, his face flushed from exertion or embarrassment, Beau couldn’t be sure.  “You’re extremely good, Daryl.  Flight of the Bumblebee is tricky to play, but you did it wonderfully.”

Daryl ducked his head, chewing on the corner of his lip.  “S’not hard.”  He glanced up, and then added hesitantly, “Jus’ gotta know the fingerin’.”

Blushing even harder at the word ‘fingering’, Daryl switched his lip out for his thumb.

Beau’s eyes darkened, and he hmm’d under his breath.  “Fingering, huh?  I know a little something about that.”

Daryl drew in a shocked breath, his eyes wide underneath his mop of dirty-blond hair.

“My door is always open,” Beau whispered, running a finger along Daryl’s jawline, before he walked out the door.

 

~

 

Later on that night, Daryl sat at his small campsite, and stared into the fire.  He’d hunted after he left the shop, so his belly was full of squirrel, and some green beans he’d bought off a guy on the side of the road.  

He wasn’t sure what, _exactly_ , Beau was offering.  Since they’d met, the other man had been nothing but kind.  Frankly, that aroused more than Daryl’s suspicion.  The first time Beau had come into the practice room and stood behind Daryl watching him play, his fingers stuttered on the keys, and fumbled over the next notes.  Beau had apologized, and left.  As he did, he squeezed Daryl’s shoulder, leaving him feeling tense and confused.

He’d known for a while that he was attracted to men.  In the abstract, that was fine, but in reality?  Daryl wasn’t stupid.  He knew how people treated guys like him in this little corner of Georgia.  He’d been at the market one day, and seen two men come in holding hands.  The owner of the store had scowled, marched over to the men and unceremoniously kicked them out of the store.  As he walked back to his place behind the counter Daryl heard things like _fag_ , and _shouldn’t be around decent folk_ , and _abomination_.

Abomination.   _Really_?  Daryl wasn’t too sure what he thought about God.  After all the shit he’d been through in his life, he was kinda hard to believe in.  He’d gotten the short end of the stick most of the time, after all.  If there really was a god up there, he didn’t think whether you stuck your dick into a guy or a girl really mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Running a hand through his hair, Daryl sighed.  Beau was attractive.  He was smart, and funny, and kind.  Daryl didn’t think he’d mind awful much if the other man touched him.  S’long as he knew it was coming.  He didn’t really feel it though.  It wasn’t anything more than a small itch underneath his skin.  Easily ignored if he chose.  He didn’t make Daryl’s heart race, or his palms sweat.  His momma had told him that when he met the right person, he’d know.  “But _how_ will I know, Momma?” he’d whined.  Ruby had just smiled at him, and patted the center of his chest.  “Your heart will know, monkey, and it’ll tell you.  It’ll race out of your chest, feel like it’s fit to burst, and you won’t be able to think of anyone else in the world you could love more.”

Maybe Beau could be something to him in time, but Daryl didn’t think so.  He smirked wickedly.  In the meantime, it couldn’t hurt to get some practice in, right?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Skari for making time to look this over, even when being crazy busy. You're awesome.

 

Daryl shifted restlessly as he waited outside of the state penitentiary. Merle was due to be released today. He’d served seven years out of a ten year sentence, and somehow had gotten released early for good behavior. Daryl snorted. Merle wouldn’t know good behavior if it walked up and socked him right in the jaw.

Finally catching sight of his big brother, Daryl hopped out of the truck, wincing slightly at the pull of overworked muscles as he did so. He’d burnt off a little steam last night at a bar on the outskirts of Atlanta, since he didn’t know when he’d be able to go again. Now that Merle was coming home, he’d have to be a lot more discreet. No more heading to the bar. Daryl shook his head. He’d just have to spend more time with Beau. It’d be easy to tell Merle he’d be going down to the store to “practice”.

“Hey there, baby brother! Long time no see!” Merle hollered. His arms were stretched out wide, and a small bag dangled from his fingers.

“Merle,” he replied.

“What’s the matter, man? Ain’t ya glad ta see me?”

Daryl nodded, lips quirking up at the corners. “‘Course, Merle. Jus’ wanna get the hell outta this place. Makes me nervous.”

Merle laughed, and clapped Daryl on the shoulder. “Ya think it’s bad out here, ya should try it in there.”

“Pass,” Daryl said.

Walking around to the passenger side Merle flung his bag into the bed of the truck and got into the cab. Slapping his hand against the door, he said, “Well? Daylight’s wastin’! Le’s go get us some pussy!”

Daryl shuddered. This was _not_ gonna be fun.

 

~

 

Watching his brother get sloppy drunk and try to paw at anything with a pair of tits was definitely not Daryl’s idea of a good time. Every time he suggested to Merle that maybe it was time to leave the bar, Merle would laugh and say something like, “The night is young, baby brother! Go get ya dick wet!”

After the first hour Daryl was bored. He’d already peeled the label off two beers, and was halfway through another. The second and third hours passed even more slowly because Merle got it into his head to send women over to try and get him laid, too. Daryl just scowled at them, and turned back to his beer.

“What the shit, Darylina?” Merle yelled, pushing Daryl, and making him stumble off his barstool.

“The hell’s your problem, Merle!”

Grabbing ahold of Daryl’s leather vest, something he’d splurged on when he got his first real paycheck, Merle pulled his brother over to an unoccupied corner of the seedy bar, and pointed a slightly wobbly finger in Daryl’s face. “Why the fuck you tellin’ all the chicks I spent my precious time gettin’ all hot for your dick ta get lost?”

“I ain’t interested, okay?”

Merle squinted his eyes at Daryl. “You a fag, baby brother?” he said. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, and his teeth were audibly grinding.

Daryl hesitated for a split second and that was all it took for Merle to pounce. He pulled a fist back, and hit Daryl squarely in the eye.

“What the fuck, Merle!” Daryl yelled, his own fists curling reflexively, and landing a punch to his brothers mouth.

Merle landed on the sticky floor, due more to the alcohol that the hit. He hauled himself to his feet, and swiped the back of his arm across his bloodied lip. “I ain’t havin’ a fag for a baby brother, Daryl,” he said. “I ain’t.”

Somehow, Daryl masked the hurt Merle caused by saying those words. He clenched his fists so tightly, he could feel his nails cutting into his palms. “Whatever, Merle,” he said, around the lump in his throat. “I’m goin’ home. Prick.”

Going over toward the bar, Daryl grabbed a paper napkin to write his address on. “I’m outta here,” he said. After he finished writing, he got the bartender’s attention and pointed at Merle, who was glaring daggers at him from across the room. Slapping the napkin onto the bar, along with a twenty dollar bill, he said, “That’s for him. S’all the money he’s got, so don’t give him no more when it runs out.”

He glanced once more at Merle, flipped up his middle finger, and walked out the door.

 

~

 

When Daryl woke up the next morning to get ready for work, Merle still hadn’t made it back to the apartment. He shouldn’t have been surprised, it _was_ Merle, after all. He was though. Just a little. During all the visits and phone calls over the years, Merle had sworn that when he got out he was gonna be a changed man. He was gonna get a job, and become an upstanding member of society. Daryl shook his head. Things weren’t looking good so far.

Pushing all the bullshit having to do with Merle aside, something that Daryl was very good at, he headed to work. Beau, who knew the owner, had helped him get the job down at King County Used Autos. Not as a salesman, Daryl would have been laughably bad at that job, but as a mechanic. It suited him. He was one of three other guys who worked there, but they left him alone for the most part. When he’d started working there they’d invited him out for a beer occasionally, but as Daryl always said no, the offers dried up. He was mostly invisible around the shop which, really, is how he liked it.

The invisibility seemed to extend to the town as well. It used to be when he was at the market, or any other place with people for that matter, the shop owners would follow him around, and look at him with suspicious eyes. It wasn’t really like that anymore, though he had noticed he’d been getting a few stares of late. He was just sort of... there. He moved in and out of most of the townspeople’s lives, just on the periphery of their vision. He had no effect on them. Like a piece of driftwood that was pulled in and out by the tide.

It didn’t bother him. Not really. Daryl was, by nature _and_ nurture, a solitary creature. He much prefered a quiet night spent around a campfire to a raucous party. He’d rather spend hours or days trekking through the woods in search of a deer, or immersing himself in music in the back room of Beau’s shop than spend ten minutes in a club. Too many people, too much noise, just too much in general.

His life was peaceful here. He hunted, he played, and he worked. It was a simple life and, if he wasn’t happy, Daryl was at least not _un_ happy.

Daryl loved his brother, he really did, but he had a feeling Merle was gonna blow his peaceful life straight to hell.

 

~

 

When he got home from work that night, Merle was sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand.

“‘Bout damn time ya got home. Y’ain’t got no food in this fuckin’ place, man? What the hell?”

“Get a goddamn job, and go buy some,” Daryl said flatly, only sparing a glance for his brother. He’d told Beau he was gonna come down to the shop tonight, so the older man was staying open late. “I gotta go. Practice down at Beau’s place.”

“Beau?” Merle questioned, his gaze tracking Daryl as he walked toward the bedroom.

“He runs the music store now,” Daryl said. “Mama Dot’s old place. He lets me use one’a the back practice rooms a couple times a week.”

“He does, huh. What exactly do ya give him in return, baby brother?”

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Merle.

“Now normally I don’t like doin’ this,” Merle said, setting his beer down, and getting up from the couch. “But I’m gonna repeat myself.” He pushed into Daryl’s space, nearly bumping their chests together. “You takin’ it up the ass, baby brother?”

Their tension filled standoff was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Lips thinning, Daryl tore his gaze away from Merle’s and went to open the door.

Beau stood on the doorstep, his smile wide. “Hey! I thought maybe you’d be hungry, so I-”

Merle jerked the door out of Daryl’s hand. “This him? The guy that turned ya into a fag?” Merle grabbed hold of Beau’s collared shirt, and jerked him roughly into the apartment. He slammed the door shut, and pushed the smaller man up against it. “Now I got somethin’ ta say ta you. You listenin’?”

“Merle!”

“Daryl? Who is thi-”

“Both of you shut the fuck up!” Merle yelled, punctuating his words by slamming Beau against the door.

Daryl tried again, “Merle jus’ let ‘im go!”

He ignored Daryl completely, and shrugged off his brothers grasping hands to focus on Beau. “You a fag, man?”

Beau squirmed under Merle’s grip. “I-if you’re asking if I’m g-gay, then yes, I am.”

Quietly, Merle asked, “You fuckin’ my baby brother?”

“Daryl? Uh…,” Beau looked at Daryl, who was standing behind Merle, chewing at the skin around his thumbnail, for help.

“I asked you a question,” Merle said. His hands tightened in Beau’s shirt. “Are. You. _Fuckin’._  My baby brother?”

Swallowing nervously, Beau said the word that would mark the beginning of Daryl’s world crashing down around his ears. “Yes.”

“Well then,” Merle nodded, “Only one thing ta do now.”

“Merle, no!” Daryl yelled, a split second too late.

Merle pulled back one large fist and proceeded to pummel the ever loving shit out of Beau.

Leaping forward and grabbing at Merle’s rapidly moving arm only got Daryl an elbow in the eye, so he switched tactics and grabbed his brother around the waist. “Knock it off, Merle! Shit!”

Freed from Merle’s grasp, Beau coughed harshly, and fell onto the floor. He could feel something wet dripping down his face, and when he pressed a hand against his lip, it came away bloody. Crawling away from where the two brothers were now wrestling around and trading punches, Beau pushed himself to his unsteady feet.

Merle muscled away from Daryl, and put a hand to his ribs, where Daryl had gotten in several good hits. “Alright, alright. I’m done, shit,” he panted. “You got better while I was gone.”

Wiping a trickle of blood from under his nose, Daryl walked over to Beau, who was watching him with wide, frightened eyes.

“Ya alrigh’?”

“What the fuck, Daryl?” Beau yelled, not noticing or caring about the bloody spittle that flew out of his mouth to land on Daryl’s upper arm..

Daryl lowered his shoulders and hunched in on himself. “M’sorry. Merle’s just-”

Beau pushed past Daryl, and flung open the door. “Fuck this,” he said, walking away. He looked Daryl up and down, then shot him a poisonous glare. “You’re not worth it.”

Sighing, Daryl pushed the door closed. He knew he wasn’t worth shit, never had been, but hearing it put so plainly hurt more that he was prepared for. He looked over at Merle, who’d plopped himself back down on the couch, looking entirely too smug, and said, “Goin’ to bed.”

“Nighty night, baby brother! Glad I was able to fix up that ‘lil problem for ya.” Merle grinned at Daryl, like he was proud of himself. He probably was.

“Fuck you, Merle,” Daryl said, his voice resigned, and he walked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

 

~

 

Merle was uncharacteristically silent for the next few days. Whenever Daryl was at home, he could feel Merle’s eyes following him wherever he went. It was unnerving.

Daryl was sitting at his rickety dining table one night drinking a beer when he finally had enough. He looked through his bangs at Merle. “You gonna say anythin’ or you just gonna watch me for the rest’a your life?”

Merle pursed his lips like he’d eaten something sour, but his flinty eyes softened slightly. “Ya know I got yer bes’ interests at heart, baby brother. And yer lucky as hell I didn’t kill that asshole.”

Daryl slapped a hand down on the table, rocking it wildly, and causing his beer to tip over. It foamed up and dripped off the table, down Daryl’s leg, and onto the linoleum, irritating him further. “What the actual fuck is _that_ supposed ta mean?”

Getting up and settling himself into the chair across from Daryl, Merle sighed. “While we was at that bar? The night I got outta the joint?”

Daryl huffed. “Yeah?”

His cheeks reddening, and the vein on his forehead beginning to pulse, Merle choked out a sentence that pushed the destruction of Daryl’s world one step further down the road. “He was recordin’ ya, baby brother. Showed it aroun’ ta some people tryin’ ta make some money. They told me about it after you left.”

For a moment Daryl thought his heart was going to stop beating completely, and he felt the blood drain completely out of his face. Recording him? “Not when we-” the words jammed up in his throat. He couldn’t seem to work them up past his adam’s apple.

“Yeah. When _you_.”

“Fuck.”

They sat there in silence for several minutes. When Daryl’s breathing verged dangerously into hyperventilation territory, Merle slid a hand across the table, and grabbed onto his brother’s. “Breathe, baby brother. I gotcha.”

Merle kept up a soothing stream of words until Daryl’s breathing steadied.

Daryl stared at the table through eyes that glinted with tears he wouldn’t let fall. There was no point. All the sweet words Beau had said to him, words Daryl hadn’t realized he’d started to believe, were lies.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Daryl met Merle’s eyes, and said frantically, “We gotta get it back fr-”

Merle held up a hand. “Already took care of it.”

Daryl couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He was numb, inside and out.

“You go on ta bed, Daryl,” Merle said, resting a hand on Daryl’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’ll clean this up.”

Mechanically, Daryl moved into his bedroom, and lay down on his bed.

He didn’t sleep.

 

~

 

Life moved on. It always did, Daryl supposed. And it’s not like Beau broke his heart or anything, he was just a guy Daryl fucked sometimes. Sure, he’d liked the guy well enough, but a great romance they were not. If it’d been as simple as a broken heart, Daryl would have just broken something of his, like some ribs, and got on with living. Still, like he kept on telling himself, life moved on. Maybe if he said it often enough, he’d start to believe it. Fake it ‘til you make it.

So, every day he went to work, enduring the snickers, the snide looks, and the laughter that was quickly squelched whenever he walked into the room. Assholes knew better than to say anything to his face, o’course. The only person that had, ended up in the ER with a broken jaw. He wouldn’t be saying anything for a good long while. Daryl smirked to himself. Fucker deserved it.

His boss just looked at him with pity-filled eyes, and asked him if he needed a few days off.

Daryl shook his head emphatically at that question. The last thing he needed was to sit at home and stare at Merle. Or, as he’d had to do the last few nights, listen to Merle watch porn. Daryl shuddered. Straight or gay, no one wanted to hear that.

He was the last one at the garage tonight. Some stupid bowling league thing that Daryl had wanted nothing to do with. Not that they’d have had him on it at this point, anyway. Daryl was shutting everything down, and getting ready to lock up when he heard a banging on the counter out front.

“Daryl! Get yer ass out here!’

Walking through the office to get to the main waiting area, he spotted his brother leaning up against the old Coke machine.

“Ya ready ta go? I’m achin’ ta hit the bar. Find me some comp’ny.” Merle’s grin was lascivious.

Daryl shook his head, “I got a few more things I need to do in the back. Five minutes.”

Merle walked over to the chairs lined up for waiting customers, and sat down. “Well? Hurry up!”

A little over five minutes later, Daryl had finished up, and changed out of his coveralls. He headed back out to the front, and nodded at Merle, who was reading Cosmopolitan of all things. “You turnin’ into a chick now?”

Merle scoffed. “Yer just jealous you couldn’t pull off all this deliciousness,” he said, gesturing to himself with long sweeping motions. “There’s some good info in that there girly magazine. I’d say you should read it yourself, but… You know.” He shrugged. “More for me!”

“Right. More for you,” Daryl laughed. “You manage to even get a phone number since ya been home?”

“Hey!” Merle protested, looking highly offended. “I’m pacin’ m’self!”

Daryl snorted. “Says the man who’s been watching porn nonstop for three days.”

“Practice, baby brother!” Merle laughed, slinging an arm around Daryl’s shoulders as they walked out. “Practice!”

 

~

 

When Daryl walked into work the next morning, he could feel tension in the air. The conversation the other mechanics were having dried up into whispers the second they saw him. They were huddled together, heads tucked in close like one of those groups of old ladies that used to come together and make a quilt. Daryl snorted to himself at the comparison. They _were_ like a bunch of gossiping old women. Only things missing were the smell of ben-gay, those little strawberry candies with the gooey center, and the false teeth.

“Daryl. Can I talk to you for a minute.”

It didn’t really seem like a question to Daryl, but he nodded, and followed his boss into the back office.

Vincent Long was a New York City transplant to small town Georgia. Daryl couldn’t figure out for the life of him just _why_ his boss had left the big city to come to this pisshole town, but to each his own he supposed.

“We’ve got a problem, Daryl.”

Daryl cocked his head to the side. “Anythin’ I can do?”

“Yeah,” his boss said. “You can go get whatever shit you have sitting around here, and you can get the fuck out.”

His mouth dropping open involuntarily, Daryl said, “What the hell? Why?”

“You closed up last night, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Vincent said, pointing a dirty, grease covered finger at Daryl. “We’re missing about five hundred dollars out of the till, Daryl. Have any idea how that happened?”

“What? No! I didn’t take nothin’!” Daryl yelled, trying to will his boss into believing him.

Vincent shook his head. “Shoulda known better than to hire you. After all the stories everyone told me. Took a chance. My mistake.”

“Mr. Long,” Daryl tried one more time, but didn’t get very far.

“No,” his boss said firmly. “I could deal with you bein’ a queer. Whatever floats your boat, ya know? But stealing from me? You’re a piece of shit thief, just like everyone told me you were. Just like your brother. Consider what you took your severance package, and count yourself lucky I don’t call the cops. Don’t bother coming back.”

Daryl slumped in the chair for a moment before forcing his limbs into motion. He didn’t have any stuff to take with him, so he just walked out to the parking lot, and got into his truck. He looked into the rear view mirror at the lot as he drove off. That was the last piece, he thought to himself. My life is well and truly fucked now.

He had just pulled up outside of his building when he realized what had probably happened to that money, and he found himself absolutely brimming over with fury. Fuckin’ _Merle._ He slammed the door to his truck, and ran up the stairs to get to his apartment. Shoving the key into the lock, and turning it so forcefully, Daryl was surprised it didn’t break off, he strode in.

Merle was sprawled out on the couch, a baggie of some random drug sitting on the milk carton table in front of him.

“Heeeeey, baby brother!” Merle slurred. “Come ta join th’ party?”

Daryl stalked over to his brother, and kicked out at the table, scattering everything on top of it to the floor. A small cloud of whatever the fuck the powder was, the stuff that Merle had decided was more important to him than _not_ fucking up Daryl’s life, lingered in the air.

“Aw, wha’d ya do that for?” Merle asked, his voice slurred, trying to get up, but only succeeding in falling off the couch in an inelegant tumble of limbs. “Whoa! There’s all kin’s of grav’ty in here!”

“You took money outta the shop last night didn’t ya!” Daryl yelled, his voice feeling like it was being torn out of his throat.

Merle just waved an arm at Daryl from where he was splayed out on the floor. “Jus’ wanna have a ‘lil party, man, needed th’ ‘jection a cash. S’fine,” he mumbled, his eyes closing, and a stupid strung out grin on his face.

Daryl ran his fingers through his hair, grasping and pulling at it desperately. Small, hurt sounds of distress were coming out of his mouth. He felt like an animal caught in a trap. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to for help. The only way out was to chew off his own foot. “You destroyed everythin’. In like a week,” Daryl said, his voice cracking. “How the fuck could you do that?”

He kicked at Merle’s leg. “How the fuck could you do that to me?” he screamed. “You’re my brother!”

Merle didn’t answer. He was too busy drooling a puddle onto the floor of the apartment that sure as hell wasn’t gonna be Daryl’s for much longer. He had enough money to pay for one more month’s rent, but not much more.

Sinking to his knees in the middle of the room, Daryl let himself break down. Everything that had happened in the past few days was finally catching up with him. Just for a minute, he promised himself, as the raging emotions swirled inside his head like a hurricane. Just this once, just for a minute. He’d get up in a minute. He would.

Drawing in a gasping breath, Daryl let himself tip over onto the floor, and he lay there. Tears he refused to let himself shed pooling in his eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, apocalypse!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update. Between hurricanes, jobs and various other things, free time has been pretty rare lately. Not beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Links to songs used in this chapter, in order: [Lacrimosa, Mozart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1i8H-W8N-aU), [Clair de Lune, Debussy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-LXl4y6D-QI), [Prelude in E-Minor, Chopin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ef-4Bv5Ng0w), [Old Country Church, Hank Williams Sr.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJ8YInU-Ihc)

With all the bullshit Daryl had had to deal with during his life, dead people getting up and walking around barely cracked his top five. After all, walkers had very specific behaviors. They didn’t change up the rules every five minutes. They were hungry, and they ate. That was it. It took very little effort for Daryl to modify his behavior, and sync up with the new world.

Other people in the group he and Merle had stumbled across, well… They were different. Always whinin’ and cryin’ about how everythin’ was different now, and blubbering like goddamn babies. The cop wasn’t like that. Daryl _sort of_ respected him. He was a dick, but as least he was upfront about it. Still, Daryl knew if it came down to a choice between anyone else in camp, and Lori and her kid? The rest of the group would be fucked.

Speaking of that damn kid, it seemed like he was constantly underfoot. Maybe that was because his momma and Shane were always sneakin’ away to fuck. He’d had to stop Merle from knockin’ the kid ‘round the side of his head a couple of times when he’d caught him pokin’ around their tent. Daryl had just sent Carl on his way, positive that any attention the Dixon brothers gave him would not be appreciated by his momma and Shane.

Still, apart from all the people around, living and dead, life hadn’t changed much for Daryl. Everything he and Merle had been doing before the turn, they were still doing. Bouncing around from place to place, hunting and fishing. Daryl had taken to tapping out rhythms on his thighs since he’d didn’t much fancy bringing out his old keyboard in front of all the new people he found himself living with. And, in Merle’s case, he spent most of his time looking for anything he could get his hands on to get high. Given the state of their lives, Daryl really couldn’t blame him, and he’d gotten over all the times his brother’s behavior had caused shit in his life to go sideways. Merle was an asshole. That was just the way he was, and nothing anyone said or did would ever make his brother change.

Just because he was an asshole was no reason to leave him locked up on a damn roof, though. Surrounded by a bunch’a dead pricks. Daryl resolutely ignored the frisson of heat that slithered, snake-like, down his spine when the new cop, _Rick Grimes_ , bent down and looked him squarely in the eye. He had to give the guy some credit. He took responsibility for what had gone down on that rooftop in Atlanta, and he went back for Merle. It was Merle’s own dumbass fault for not waitin’. He should have known there was no way in hell Daryl’d just leave him there to rot. In his desperation to get his brother back, Daryl had been ready to charge into the middle of the city, armed only with a crossbow that had _maybe_ ten bolts, and a hunting knife. Rick had put a stop to that. He’d stared Daryl down, an intensity in those electric blue eyes that, to this day, ignited a flame somewhere deep down inside him.

The dynamic between Rick and Daryl slowly changed after Carl got shot, and Sophia got lost. When they ended up on the Greene’s farm, Daryl’s tireless search for that little girl seemed to touch something inside Rick. Daryl had been determined that he was gonna find her, and it caused him to do some things that he was slightly uncomfortable with. Like telling Carol the story of the Cherokee rose. That was something his momma had told him when he was so small he could hardly see it through the haze of time. Carol reminded him of her, sometimes. The way she still flinched at sudden movements, and hesitated to speak her mind. She was beginning to find her voice, though, and Daryl didn’t feel like he could do anything else but help.

The day he’d fallen down the edge of that bluff, he’d almost thought he was done for. But, when he’d seen Merle standing there as big as life, and twice as mean, Daryl had forced himself to climb back up through sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. He was sure as hell not gonna die out here. He had shit to do. It was worth it, maybe. The look in Rick’s eyes as he hovered over the bed while Hershel sewed him up stirred up feelings that Daryl wasn’t quite sure he wanted to deal with.

When they’d realized that Sophia had been in the barn all along, Daryl felt like a failure. Just another fuck up to add to his mental tally. Just another reason he wasn’t fit to be around people. Another reason for the group to decide that having his sorry ass around wasn’t worth the hassle.

When Dale died, Daryl had seen Rick’s hand tremble around the grip of his colt. Daryl had reacted before his brain could even fully process what he was going to do. The only thought in his mind was that Rick needed help. As time went on, and Daryl gradually began to acclimate himself to being around so many people, Rick was the one he was most comfortable with. The one he didn’t necessarily mind having around. Rick was important. The moment he knelt on the ground next to Dale, watching Rick’s hand tremble, Daryl decided that he’d do whatever it took to stay by this man’s side

Sometime between the night that Dale died, and the night all hell broke loose at the farm, Daryl managed to smuggle his keyboard out of his tent, and into the woods. Just feeling it in his hands and running his fingers over the outside made his tense muscles relax. The batteries were almost dead, but Daryl thought he could get one last song out of the old thing. He turned his head up to the sky, his fingers moving almost soundlessly over the keys, and played his lament for Sophia and Dale into the wind.

 

~

 

The first winter after the turn had been miserable. Daryl was tense and on edge, his fingers twitching restlessly with the need to play. His keyboard was a lost cause. After the night out in the woods, it had finally quit on him. Even new batteries hadn’t worked. Daryl had taken to spending more and more time in the woods, despite the lowering temperatures, just to get away from the mounting tension between Rick and Lori. Tension that was affecting the entire group.

Finding the prison had been just what they needed. A safe place for Lori to give birth. A place for Carl to grow. A place for the rest of the group to finally shed the thick skin of fear and hopelessness they’d all grown over the winter. And, for a while, it had been perfect. Sure, they had minor little mishaps. If you could call Hershel losing a leg minor. But it worked. They had a home. They were safe.

Then Lori died, and it had all gone to shit. Rick spent days in the tunnels, taking out emotions that Daryl wasn’t even gonna try to understand on any walkers that were unfortunate enough to cross his path. Daryl tried to talk to him several times, but Rick was so far in his own head he couldn’t be sure the man even heard the words he’d said, let alone comprehended them.

So, Daryl did what he could. He stepped up. He hunted more, he went on more runs, he took more watches. And, if he got a little lump in his throat, and a warm feeling in his chest whenever he held ‘lil Asskicker close to his chest, and pressed his nose into the downy tufts of hair on her head, no one else needed to know.

Daryl was outside smoking one night, his back pressed against bricks that still held the heat of the day inside them, when he saw Rick come out into the little courtyard they’d cleared.

Rick was moving jerkily, like he’d forgotten how to walk, and he was covered in gore from head to toe.

Stubbing out his cigarette on the cement, Daryl cleared his throat, making Rick’s eyes dart over to where he was sitting, half concealed in the shadows.

Daryl stood slowly. He moved closer, and stared into Rick’s bloodshot eyes, trying to gauge the other man’s state of mind.

Rick looked away finally, and up toward the moon where it was hanging fat and luminous in the sky. He flattened his back on the same sun-warmed brick Daryl had taken advantage of, and slid down until he was sitting on the asphalt.

Approaching cautiously, Daryl sat down next to Rick, bumping the other man with his shoulder as he did.

It nearly broke his heart to look into Rick’s eyes. Their normal bright blue was dulled with guilt, and pain, and loss, and Daryl would have done _anything_ in that moment to erase even the smallest fraction of it.

“I don’t know what to do, Daryl, I-” Rick broke off, his words stuttering to a halt, and hung his head.

Daryl moved closer, unmindful of the spatter on Rick’s clothes, and pressed himself up against the other man from shoulder to hip. He met Rick’s eyes briefly before looking down at the ragged edges of his fingernails and nodded. “I know.”

A broken sob echoed in the air around them, and Rick tried once again to speak. “How am I gonna…. Carl...” He trailed off, thumping his head back against the bricks.

“Hey,” Daryl murmured, tucking his shoulder a bit closer into Rick’s side. “Don’t gotta figure nothin’ out right now.”

Rick looked over at Daryl, his eyes burning with all the emotion roiling around inside them. He pressed his side right back into Daryl’s, and they stayed that way for the rest of the night, only separating when dawn started to break on the horizon.

 

~

 

Hearing that Merle was alive was a shock to Daryl. He had held out some hope, but deep down, he’d thought that his big brother was probably long dead.

When Glenn said his name, Daryl had frozen, disbelief on his face. He was ready to go charging right back into Woodbury to find Merle, screw the fact that they were outnumbered ten to one. Daryl had damn near begged Rick, tried to convince the other man that Daryl could work something out. Merle wouldn’t hurt him. Daryl was sure of it.

But Rick had focused his gaze on Daryl, and started talking. Daryl had been ready to argue more, desperate to go find his brother, but then Rick said three words that changed everything. Three words that Daryl had never imagined he’d hear, and his heart immediately slammed up into his throat, so that all he could do was nod and agree. Rick _needed_ him.

That was the moment he finally admitted, if only to himself, that he was in love with Rick Grimes.

 

~

 

Daryl had never imagined he’d reunite with his brother in the middle of a crowd that was screaming for his death. At first, he’d thought Merle was gonna go along with The Governor’s plan, and he couldn’t help but feel a sharp spike of betrayal run through him. When Merle had asked Daryl to follow his lead, he’d allowed a small sliver of hope to unfurl inside his chest.

They still would have been screwed if Rick and Maggie hadn’t shown back up, but Daryl hadn’t allowed himself to believe that anyone would come back for him. Sure, Rick said he needed Daryl, but Daryl was pretty positive it was the other way ‘round. If anything ever happened to him, Rick would be fine. Conversely, if anything ever happened to Rick, if Rick got himself hurt or _killed_ trying to rescue _Daryl_? That was just unacceptable. He wasn’t that important.

He tried so hard to get the others to agree to let Merle come back to the prison. When he realized that it wasn’t going to happen, Daryl had felt a sort of numbness creep in over his body. He couldn’t leave Merle again. Finding him in the fucked up world they lived in now was nothing short of a miracle.

So, he left, even though every instinct in his body was screaming at him to stay with Rick.

Daryl walked off into the forest, his brother’s arm heavy across his shoulders. He couldn’t stop himself from looking back at Rick, and he wondered if the stricken look on the other man’s face came even close to matching the pain inside his own chest. The pain that got stronger with every step he took from Rick’s side.

 

~

 

He made the wrong decision. Daryl knew it before they’d even made it a mile from the road. Flashes of his childhood kept running through his mind on a loop. All the times Merle had saved him from their father, and caught a beating for it. The times Merle had professed that he wasn’t hungry, and pushed his own plate of food over towards Daryl. The rough hand that ruffled his hair the day Daryl had told him about the concert in Atlanta, and the proud way his brother’s chest puffed up every time Daryl played for him. The year that Merle had sobered up, and managed to convince social services that he was a fit guardian for his twelve year old brother.

It just wasn’t enough anymore. His brother was blood, but in the world they lived in now, blood shared didn’t make family. Blood shed together time after time, while you fought to survive, fought to provide, and fought to carve out a place for yourselves... Blood shed willingly for people that you’d die for without a second thought... That’s what made family.

After the incident on the bridge, Daryl made up his mind. All the talk about how close he and _Sheriff Rick_ were, and how Daryl wanted to fuck the other man, however true, was ignored. When his shirt ripped away, and Merle had the absolute nerve to say he hadn’t known about any of it, Daryl gave up. Merle was gonna be Merle, and there was no making him understand that Rick was more than just some cop. More than family. He told Merle just what he thought, his voice weary, and made his way back to the prison. Back to Rick.

He’d expected the prison to be overrun with the Governor’s men when he got back, and he wasn’t disappointed. A sharp bite of fear seized him when he saw Rick being pressed up against the fences, walkers surrounding him. Rick was a millimeter from being bitten, but Daryl managed to bring up his bow in time. Rick looked over at him, and all it took was a nod for Daryl to know that everything was forgiven.

It wasn’t gonna be easy, Merle would make sure of that, but Daryl was back at the prison. Nothing, short of death, would persuade him to leave Rick’s side again.

 

~

 

When Daryl walked through the gates alone, a couple of hours after Michonne returned, Rick knew something had gone wrong. Swallowing down the sick feeling in his stomach, he approached the other man. It was no secret that there hadn’t been any love lost between their group and Merle, but he was Daryl’s family. Rick was, too. Daryl had said so himself, and the visceral longing that had run through Rick’s body in that moment was exhilarating, if not a little frightening. If Merle was gone… Rick fought back a brief flare of panic at the thought of Daryl reverting back to the caustic and combative personality he’d had back at the quarry.

“Daryl,” he started.

As soon as he saw the hunter’s eyes, Rick knew. Merle was dead.

Daryl glared at Rick, his eyes filled with anger, and headed into the prison. The smallest corner of Daryl’s normal mask had slipped for a split second, and in that second Rick saw everything. Daryl was barely holding himself together. Any second now, he was going to snap.

Following Daryl at a reasonable distance, Rick waved off any questions that were directed his way. He caught Glenn’s eye, and motioned to Daryl, continuing on at the other man’s nod. Rick wasn’t surprised when Daryl headed to the stairs. He’d made it very clear that he refused to sleep inside a cage, and the roof was better than the perch Daryl had slept on during their first few nights in the cell block.

Pausing outside the access door, Rick took a deep breath, and prayed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore, that he’d say the right words. That Daryl would be alright.

Rick pushed open the door, wincing at the loud screeching noise it made. His gaze scanned the roof, and he quickly zeroed in on Daryl. He was sitting against the old A/C unit, his elbows resting on bent knees, and his head hanging down. Rick cocked his head to the side, curiously. Daryl’s fingers were moving restlessly. Tapping out patterns into the empty air.

“Don’t want no comp’ny. Fuck off,” Daryl grunted, his voice thick, and rough. His hands clenched into fists, and he pressed them down into the rooftop. He didn’t even bother to lift his head.

Making as little noise as he could, which was only one tick down from loud, Rick’s boots crunched over the gravel-strewn roof and he lowered himself down at Daryl’s side.

Daryl glanced up at Rick, his narrowed eyes nearly obscured by his bangs, and scowled. “Said I didn’t want no comp’ny, Rick. Don’t wanna talk.”

Rick simply nodded and shuffled closer to Daryl. He stopped when he was pressed up tight to the other man’s side, like the night Daryl had found him, fresh out of the tunnels. When he was still reeling from Lori’s death, and the birth of a child he was nearly positive wasn’t his. Daryl had just been there. A solid presence that Rick could lean against in a time when he hadn’t had the strength to stand on his own.

Sighing loudly, Daryl hung his head again. “Ya don’t need to be here, Rick. M’fine.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Rick said, “I want to.”

Rick’s eyes were drawn to Daryl’s fingers once more when that restless movement resumed. “What’re you doing with your fin-”

Daryl’s head jerked up, and he eyed Rick, wary. His fingers stopped their dancing through the air, something Rick wasn’t even sure Daryl was aware he was doing, and were tucked away at his sides. His shoulders hunched, and his body shrunk in on itself.

Raising his hands, Rick said softly, “Sorry. It’s alright, I won’t ask any more questions.”

Daryl looked at Rick, his eyes filled with something Rick didn’t quite understand, and nodded.

They sat there and watched the sun set over the Georgia hills. When distressed noises, and small, hitching breaths started making their way past the tight seal of Daryl’s lips, Rick started humming. He didn’t know the name of the song. It had been on a CD that Lori had bought after Carl was born. The ones that claimed that if you played them for your baby, it would turn out to be a genius or something. This particular song, however, had always soothed Rick more than it had Carl. Occasionally, after especially stressful days on the job, Rick would put a pair of headphones on, and listen to it over and over.

Daryl seemed to relax fraction by fraction, until the muscles of the body that still pressed into Rick’s side were loose and fluid.

“Clair de Lune,” Daryl whispered, his fingers tapping out a rhythm where they now rested along his thighs.

Rick stopped humming, and looked at Daryl questioningly. “What?”

“The song you were hummin’. Clair de Lune. Debussy.”

Deciding not to ask about Daryl’s unexpected knowledge, Rick simply nodded. “I used to listen to it. Long time ago.”

“Me, too. One’a my favorites,” Daryl murmured, his face turned away from Rick.

Tucking that information away for another day, Rick tilted his face down to try and find Daryl’s eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, taking a deep breath before standing and stretching his legs. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He looked at Rick then, an expression Rick had never seen before on his face.

“You sure?” Rick asked, again.

Daryl nodded, his eyes shuttering, and extended a hand to help Rick get to his feet. “Yeah. Go on an’ head to bed. I’m fine.”

Rick accepted the hand up, and clasped Daryl on the shoulder with the other. “You need me, I’m here.”

Releasing Daryl, Rick headed back inside, unaware of the longing glance that was directed at his retreating back.

 

~

 

The prison was gone. Everything they worked so hard for, everything that they’d sacrificed… It was all gone. Just another smoking ruin filled with piles of bodies

And now, after everything that happened, Beth wanted to get drunk and play fucking games. Like Daryl didn’t have enough shit to worry about without dealing with a drunk teenager.

Daryl wasn’t really sure why Beth thinking he’d been in jail pissed him off so much. Maybe because he thought she saw him as more than just another ignorant redneck. When he dragged her outside the little shack they’d found, he knew he was scaring her, but he just didn’t care. Blowing up in her face was easier than thinking about all the people they were never gonna see again. All the people that were dead, because, once again, Daryl wasn’t strong enough to save them. He wasn’t strong enough to save Rick.

That night had turned out well enough. Daryl got some things off his chest, and Beth did the same. Walking away from that burning building, he thought maybe he’d put that piece of who he’d been to rest.

When he and Beth found the house slash funeral home, one of the first things Daryl noticed was the piano. He ignored it the best he could, but after he’d eaten, and gotten them set up for the night, he felt himself being drawn to it. Before he was able to get there though, Beth beat him.

Daryl encouraged her to play while he lay in the coffin. Morbid as it may have been, the damn thing was surprisingly comfortable. It was nice, hearing music somewhere other than in his head again. It had been such a massive part of Daryl’s life, ever since he was a child, that not having it around in some way nearly killed him. Hearing Beth play, while not _exactly_ what he craved, was good enough for the time being.

After Beth fell asleep sitting up on the piano bench, Daryl carried her up the stairs and helped her into bed. Heading back downstairs, Daryl couldn’t stop himself any longer. He sat down on the bench, and just ran his fingers up and down the keys for a moment. Closing his eyes, he thought of Rick, and played the first thing that came into his mind.

He was still playing hours later, so focused on the instrument in front of him, that he never noticed Beth coming down the stairs to watch him. When she cleared her throat, he jumped away from the piano, and knocked the bench onto it’s side.

“I didn’t know you played.”

Daryl just grunted and righted the seat. He avoided Beth’s eyes, instead staring at a gnarl in the wooden floor.

“You’re really good,” she said, smiling widely at Daryl. “I bet you missed having a piano, huh? Since you're so good at it, and all.”

Looking at Beth from the corner of his eye, Daryl huffed. “Naw. Just bored.”

“Really, Daryl?” Beth laughed, limping over to stand next to him. She looked up at him, her eyes hopeful. “Will you play me something?”

“Maybe. Depends.”

Beth frowned, and asked, “Depends on what?”

Daryl’s lips twitched into a small smirk. “If I know it.”

“Oh. Right.” Beth looked down at her feet, and continued, “Old Country Church? My Grandpa used to like that one.”

After thinking for a moment, Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I know it.”

Beth beamed, clapping her hands together like Daryl had just handed her a puppy.

Daryl took a seat at the piano, and played a few notes. “That th’ one?”

“Yeah. Can you slow it down a little? Like Hank Williams did it? I think it sounds better.”

Nodding, Daryl began to play. Beth squeezed in next to him on the bench, lay her head on his shoulder, and began to sing along.

When he finished, Beth turned and hugged Daryl hard, making him stiffen slightly. “Thanks, Daryl.” She smiled up at him after she let go, her eyes bright. “For everything.”

Blushing, Daryl dipped his head. Rising from the seat, he picked Beth up, and headed for the stairs. “That’s enough a’that. Let’s get some sleep.”

 

~

 

When Daryl walked into the circle of moonlight, and saw Joe holding a gun against Rick’s head, his mind went a little fuzzy around the edges. He almost didn’t notice Michonne and Carl, his entire focus centering on Rick. Daryl did the only thing he could think of doing. He was aware enough to realize that offering himself up in Rick’s place probably wouldn’t work, but it was _Rick_. He had to try. When Joe started spouting out all his bullshit about lies, Daryl knew what was coming next. He fought back, but two against one wasn’t going to end well.

Daryl figured, best case scenario, the guys might get distracted by him getting beaten to death. So maybe he didn’t fight quite as hard as he could have. While that was happening, Rick could take advantage of the phenomenal luck that seemed to linger around him like fog, and somehow get Michonne and Carl the hell away. As long as they were safe, Daryl would consider any kind of sacrifice he had to make worth it.

He really should have known that Rick wouldn’t just do _nothing_ when someone was threatening his son. Everything happened pretty fast after that. He wasn’t surprised that Rick straight up tore a chunk out of Joe’s throat. With his teeth. Use whatever weapon you have in a pinch, after all. Afterwards… Rick _gutted_ that other guy, and then turned his chest into slurry. Daryl supposed if he had a kid, and that kid was almost raped, he would have done the same thing. Didn’t make it easier to watch though. Or listen to.

Sitting up against the side of the ruined SUV, Daryl did his best to explain everything that had happened since the prison fell. Losing Beth was the hardest to voice. He only managed to say the she was gone. He didn’t say that it was his fault. That he had, once again, come up short, and an innocent had paid the price instead of him.

Looking at Rick, blood coating his face like some kind of macabre halloween mask, Daryl clung to the hope that he hadn’t fucked everything up too badly. He hadn’t known what kind of people Joe and his group were. If he’d known it was Rick, Michonne and Carl they were following, he’d have done… Well. He doesn’t really know what exactly he’d have done. But, he’d have done _something_.

When Rick called Daryl his brother, Daryl’s breath hitched, and his heart started beating erratically in his chest. It couldn’t decide between ripping itself out of Daryl’s chest and flinging itself out onto the asphalt, so Rick could just go ahead and stomp the shit out of it, or filling up with a sense of belonging so strong that it was likely to burst out his chest anyway.

His heart wasn’t the only thing that was near to bursting either.

Standing up awkwardly, Daryl walked over to the edge of the woods. He needed to get away, or he was gonna do something stupid. He looked back at Rick, who was still sitting there, rubbing his hands together, trying to get rid of the blood that coated them.

“Gonna go try an’ find us somethin’ to eat,” Daryl said, hefting his crossbow up over his shoulder, trying to will away the erection that had sprung up at Rick’s declaration.

Rick looked over at Daryl, his tongue running along his bottom lip, and nodded. Daryl stiffened, eyes following the sweep of Rick’s tongue, his shoulders going rigid. “Try and stay close,” Rick said, glancing up at the window, behind which Michonne and Carl were sitting. “We don’t need to get separated again.”

Daryl just grunted, and took off into the trees.

He was about a mile away when he stopped. Game was the last thing on his mind. Daryl couldn’t stop the image of Rick’s tongue licking over his lips, over the blood smeared there, from playing through his mind over and over again.

What would Rick have done if Daryl had leaned across the small space they’d shared, and licked away the blood for him?

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Daryl sneered, “I’m a goddamn sick fuck.”

Running a hand down his chest, Daryl scraped a fingernail across one nipple, and his breath stuttered, a guttural moan rising from his throat. Moving his other hand down, he lifted the edge of the tattered shirt he was wearing, and let his fingers drift along the sharp jut of his hipbone. Curling his hand into a claw, he raked his nails across the soft skin below his navel, imagining it was Rick’s hand. The blood there would transfer onto Daryl’s skin, make it tacky, and cause Rick’s fingers to skip across some areas, and linger in others. Daryl whined loudly at that thought, and his hips jerked up into the empty air.

Daryl couldn’t stop himself any longer. He fixed the image of Rick’s tongue in his mind, his blood-covered hands, and nearly ripped the button off his pants in his hurry to get them undone.

Palming himself through uncharastically present boxers, Daryl hissed. This wasn’t going to take very long.

Pulling his cock out through the slit, he ran a calloused hand up the length, and squeezed tight. Rick wouldn’t be gentle with him. He’d know exactly how Daryl wanted to be touched, and he’d not waste any time getting down to it.

Leaning his back against a tree with his cock in hand, Daryl groaned softly, his eyes scanning the surrounding trees for danger despite his distraction. He’d wanted to lunge across the space separating him from Rick. Wanted to lick across Rick’s face, and plunge his copper tinged tongue deep into Rick’s mouth. He’d pull up the shirt, and lick down the other man’s blood slicked chest until he got to the barrier of Rick’s belt. Rick would be stunned at first, hesitation in his eyes, but then those eyes would go dark with lust. He’d fist a hand in Daryl’s hair, and growl, pushing Daryl’s head down to the denim of his jeans. Daryl would willingly go. Press his mouth against the thick bulge he would find there and run his tongue across it before sucking. Like if he tried hard enough, he could get at Rick’s cock through the thick fabric.

Daryl groaned, the sound echoing off the trees around him. “Fuck,” he rasped, biting at the inside of his cheek and his bottom lip to try and choke off his increasingly frantic noises. One hand moved rapidly over his twitching cock, the other gripping desperately at the bark of the tree, small splinters of wood lodging underneath his dirty fingernails.

Moving his fingers up to the shamefully wet head of his cock, Daryl rubbed some of the moisture into his length. Uncurling his fingers from the tree, Daryl ran a finger around the tip, and brought it up to his mouth. Moaning deeply around his precome coated finger, Daryl’s hand sped up, imagining, instead of his own, Rick’s flavor spreading across his tongue.

The image of Rick sliding his sticky, blood coated hands into his hair, and guiding Daryl’s head up and down on his cock was all he could take.

Daryl’s hand tightened around his cock, almost too tight, and his teeth clamped down onto the fingers he still had pressed against his tongue.

“Rick,” he hissed, as he came, the words coming out slurred and broken around the barrier of his fingers. Thick ropes of white coated the pants he’d been in too much of a hurry to pull down all the way.

Pulling his fingers out of his mouth, and slowly sliding down to the ground, he ignored the way the rough bark of the tree dug into his back. Daryl took several deep breaths, and looked down at his hand. He’d broken the skin on two of his fingers. He reached out with his injured hand, and methodically gathered the come spattered on his pants. Raising his blood and come coated fingers to his mouth, he hummed contentedly to himself as he sucked them clean.

 

~

 

If anyone had told Daryl that one day, he’d be locked up in a train car by people that were angling to, literally, get a piece of his ass, he’d have thought they were out of their minds. But, here he was. Sandwiched in beside Rick and what was left of their group. Several new faces rounding out their numbers.

Kneeling in front of that trough, watching those men get clubbed over the head with a bat, then seeing their lives slowly inch downwards and drain away was more fucked up than anything Daryl had ever seen. Not even his old man would have done that, and he had been just about the worst human being Daryl had ever known.

If it hadn’t been for Carol, they’d all be dead. After they fought their way free, and she melted out of the trees in front of them, Daryl thought he was dreaming. When he wrapped her up in his arms, all the emotions he’d been holding back just sort of… escaped. Carol was important. She was the closest friend Daryl had ever had, except for Rick, and he wasn’t sure Rick belonged in the friend category, anyway.

Back before the prison had fallen, Carol had cornered him up on the roof. When they’d eaten earlier that day, he’d noticed her eyes moving between him and Rick. Woman was too damn observant for his taste. He’d squirmed on the bench where he sat next to Rick. Their shoulders bumping repeatedly. Rick patted his thigh, and Daryl’s eyes had darted over to Carol’s, his face flushed.

“Oh, Pookie,” she’d said, lifting a hand to pat at his shoulder. Her clear blue eyes seemed to stare all the way into his soul. “Ever think about just telling him how you feel?”

“Stop,” Daryl huffed, staring at the gravel littering the rooftop. “Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna happen there.”

“There should be.” Carol looked at him, her brow furrowed. “You really don’t see how much he relies on you at all.”

Daryl shook off her hand and paced over to the edge of the roof. It was nearly sunset. He could see Rick and Carl walking along the fences, stopping here and there to pull at the links, testing their strength. Chewing on his lip, he turned to look at her, the fading sunlight casting her face in shadow. “He needs me to keep the group fed. S’all,” He finally said, looking back toward the fences. Toward Rick.

Carol shook her head, and turned to leave, looking back at Daryl one last time. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.” She smiled softly at him before walking off and shutting the metal door behind her.

Daryl sighed, moving away from the edge of the roof. It wouldn’t do to have someone look up here, and think he was gonna jump. Walking over to the small shelter he’d set up, not much more than a tarp draped over various obsolete A/C components, he lowered himself down onto a thin mattress. Letting his eyes fall shut, his splayed out fingers began picking out melodies against his thighs, the sound as clear as day inside his head.

 

~

 

Walking up to the cabin, and seeing Tyreese stepping out with 'lil Asskicker held in his arms nearly made Daryl fall to his knees. He held himself back, and only watched as Rick and Carl sprinted over to her. Rick immediately cuddling her close to his chest, his eyes brimming over with tears, and Carl breathing out her name almost reverently, his hand coming up to cradle her head. Daryl held that memory close in the days that followed.

They lost Bob, and found Gabriel. Found Beth, only to lose her again moments later. Permanently this time. Walking out of that hospital with Beth's still warm body cradled in his arms, and hearing Maggie’s grief-stricken wail nearly made him fall to his knees. If he’d only been faster, or smarter, or a million other things, maybe he’d have saved Beth’s life.

Tyreese was gone now, too.  Bled out in the back of some random vehicle they’d picked up somewhere along the way to Richmond. Daryl glanced warily to his left, where Sasha was walking, her rifle held steadily in her arms. Even he could tell she was taking the death of Tyreese and Bob pretty badly.

Shaking off those thoughts, since they accomplished nothing, Daryl walked over to Rick. They’d been on this road for several days now, and were dangerously low on water. He’d been pushing his share off onto Maggie or Carol, so he was feeling more dehydrated every second.

“Rick,” he grunted, tapping the other man’s shoulder to get his attention.  

Rick shifted Judy in his arms, licking dry lips with, from what Daryl could see, was an equally dry tongue. He was probably giving all his water to Carl and 'lil Asskicker. “Daryl,” Rick said, his voice hoarse, and raspy.

“M’gonna go look for somethin’ to eat. Maybe find some water.”

Nodding, Rick shifted Judy to his other arm, and clasped Daryl’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscle there. “Don’t stay gone too long. We don’t need to get separated.”

Not bothering to respond, just meeting Rick’s eyes for a split second, Daryl turned and headed into the woods. Carol didn’t follow him this time. Woman had a sixth sense about her when it came to Daryl. She knew he wouldn’t welcome company.

Catching sight of some sort of structure through the trees, Daryl pushed through the last layer of foliage, and looked at the barn in front of him. Carefully laying down his crossbow, he settled his back against a tree and pulled out one of his only remaining cigarettes. He lit it, letting it sit limply in his hand as he stared into the distance.

When he lifted his smoke, and pressed the burning cherry against his hand, Daryl felt his mind go blank. For just a few seconds, nothing mattered but the small circle of pain on his hand. He shook himself out of his trance-like state moments later, and pushed himself to his feet. The group was hungry. Daryl didn’t have any more time to sit here and feel sorry for himself. Shouldering his bow, he stalked off into the trees. He had work to do.


End file.
